


Footsteps in the Dark

by Bethann, Minniemoggie



Series: Legendary Friendship [5]
Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings (Movies), Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Comfort, Friendhip, Humor, Spanking, illustrated story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-04
Updated: 2011-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:50:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethann/pseuds/Bethann, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minniemoggie/pseuds/Minniemoggie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Co Authored with Minnie.<br/>Legolas visits Gimli in his home and feels he must prove himself to Gimli's not so welcoming mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story will make more sense if you've read the others in this series

Footsteps in the Dark

I have to work hard at controlling my breathing, for my breaths are coming short and fast. the palms of my hands are moist, and were I to be asked to speak I suspect I would have difficulty putting together a coherent sentence.

 

It is scarcely more than a half-day since we bid farewell to the escort my father insisted escorted us on our journey. The northern patrol is even now ensconced in the trees on the edge of my Ada’s realm where they will remain until I return to them.

Arod is also there. Although Gimli assures me that his folk keep ponies for their own use over long journeys, most are stabled in Lake Town, and I would not wish my own mount to be left in the dubious care of the men of Dale. Although, round about now, Lake Town seems more and more inviting.

 

I draw in a deep breath and try to concentrate on the rhythmical thud of Gimli’s walking axe. He is anxious to be home and I am increasingly wishing I had never agreed to this visit.

We made a pact with each other before the battle of the Black Gate that should we both survive, which at the time seemed unlikely, we would make every effort to bring about reconciliation between our two folk. Back then the idea of being alive long enough to visit Erebor as a representative of the folk of the Wood had seemed an unlikely enough scenario as to be easy to agree to. Now, it is too much a reality and I am by no means ready for this.

 

Yet how can I honourably withdraw? Gimli more than fulfilled his part of the bargain, bringing me home safe and almost whole to my father and then making an excellent job of acting as ambassador for the dwarves of Erebor in my Ada’s court. While he made no mention of it, I am all too aware that some of my people were less than welcoming of Gimli’s presence. He met with his fair share of ignorance and prejudice as well as hospitality and acceptance. Gimli took all in his stride, being more than competent at handling all that was thrown at him, good or bad.

I am by no means so sure I am capable of doing the same.

 

Yet my Ada has given me his blessing for this venture. I know he was less than happy at my wishing to leave the stronghold so soon after my return from Minas Tirith. Yet he could see that should I fail to fulfil my side of the bargain with Gimli then our folk would be lessened, and it is only for a few days. My Ada would not consent to an absence from his side of more than a sennight and Gimli who has become like a second father to me would not see me wrenched away from my home for any longer than is necessary to fulfil our agreement.

 

I believe he would not even have asked for that, save that the news of our pledge had already been sent to Erebor and my arrival was expected alongside that of Gimli Gloinson.

 

The new king under the mountain sent a personal invitation to me to visit. He is named Thorin III Stonehelm. When Gimli and his father, Lord Gloin, left Erebor to seek counsel with Lord Elrond, the king was Dain II Ironfoot. He died during the war at what was to dwarves a good age of 252. My friend was unaware of his king’s death until we came to my father’s halls and the news was a grievous blow to him. Yet dwarves are hardy folk and he rallied quickly and the knowledge that his father and mother were well and that King Thorin had sent an invitation to me to visit acted as a real tonic to him.

Gimli has been anxious to get home, and who am I to complain of the pace he set once we had departed my father’s hall. I had told Ada I was looking forward to the experience and that I would do all in my power to give a good impression both of our kind and of my king to the dwarves under the mountain. Now as we come almost in sight of the entrance I find myself wishing my father had forbidden me to make this journey.

How will I be received? Will I be able to uphold the honor of my father and king? I shudder as I recall the dark, dank, dangerous halls of Moria and the horrors the Fellowship encountered there; the smell of death and decay, the darkness. Shut away from all that is natural and right, the sunshine, the stars, the song of the trees. Beneath the earth there is only silence, heavy oppressive silence. Menacing stone on all sides, above and below; walls pressing in on every side and no air, or at least no fresh air, no light, save the flickering of fire and torch. I have to fight with every sinew to keep from panicking and running for all I am worth back to my beloved trees.

 

Surely, if Gimli could overcome his dislike of forests I can survive another trip into a dwarven mountain. It will not be the same as Moria I try to reassure myself. This is a thriving community and it is my friend’s home. My own father’s stronghold is built into the side of a mountain; save that even inside there is air and light, for the caverns do not delve deeply into the earth. Carvings and tapestries cover the stone walls and plants grow and thrive.  Yet even there I prefer to be outside and under the canopy of the stars rather than solid rock

 

If I am not to shame my father, and myself I must do all I can to show the denizens of Erebor that an elf can learn to live deep beneath the ground. It is the least I can do, after all Gimli has done for me, I owe it to him and to my own kin to represent them as well as I possibly can.

Yet, with each step that carries me closer to the mountain my courage sinks and my nervousness increases. Without realizing it my pace slows until I am all but dragging my feet. Gimli looks back at me with a frown.

 

“What is it Laddie? Is aught amiss?”

 

How am I supposed to answer that?

 

 

 

****

 

 

 

 

 

We have been walking now for half a day, our Elven escort having stopped to wait in the edge of the forest for their Prince to return to them.  Already the land is filled with the waters of the great River Running where it trickles down in hundreds of winding courses.  A strong stream flows through the center of the mist and as I look ahead I see it.  The great lone mountain looms in the distance, with its highest peak hidden from sight in the clouds.  This is the point in any journey when I feel that I am truly home.  I hurry my steps in my desire to arrive home.  It has been too long that I have slept among the trees, and I suddenly long for the comfort and security that comes from being inside solid stone walls. With any luck, we will be inside the gates this night, though I cannot help wondering if things will be the same, for I have recently received some tragic news.  My kinsman and King, Dain II, known as Ironfoot, is no longer among the living.  It is a sad loss for Durin’s folk, for he had reigned for nearly eighty years and will be sorely missed.

Well I remember the tales that were told to me as a child about the great warrior, Dain, who hewed off the head of the Orc Chieftain, Azog, to avenge his slain father, at a time when he was barely old enough to be considered battle ready. The Great Red Axe, Barazantathul, was used to accomplish this amazing feat and Dain was never seen without it during battle until King Thorin II Oakenshield was lost during the Battle of the Five Armies. It was at some point in that battle that the Great Axe was lost, and after it that Dain Ironfoot was made King Under the Mountain. It is difficult to believe he is gone, and yet he died fighting right at the very gates defending the home that he loved. He died with honor and at a ripe old age, and a dwarf cannot ask for better than that. I am certain his son Thorin III Stonehelm, will fill his shoes with dignity and honor. It is he who has sent a personal invitation to my traveling companion, which I consider to be a grand triumph.  


 The Elves of the Wood, have not been welcome under the mountain, and a rift remains between our two realms, so I was deeply touched that this invitation had been extended. It is a testament to the King’s respect for me, that he was willing to entertain what must have seemed an unusual request.  I hope it will have a healing influence for my people to see that a friendship is possible between our two races.  For indeed, the elf who walks behind me has become much more than a friend. He has become a kinsman to me; very like a son.  I do not think I would feel this any more strongly had he come from my own seed, though _that_ may be difficult to explain to some folks, my own mother and father to begin with. 

 

Talking of my elfling, he has become very quiet over the last little while.  I have been so caught up in my memories and excitement to be home that I have not been paying proper attention.  I turn to see why he has fallen so far behind and notice that he is looking decidedly uncomfortable having become quite pale and is breathing erratically.  Immediately I become alarmed. I know Legolas will say I am a terminal worrywart, and while that may be true, he has given me plenty of cause to worry.  His stubborn carelessness came close to getting him killed on our journey back to his home, so now I feel I must keep a constant watch to make sure everything is well. I wait for him to catch up to me before I speak.

 

“What is it, Laddie?  Is aught amiss?” He hesitates as if to speak, and then only shrugs one shoulder which is hardly an acceptable answer. 

 

“You had best remember the promise you made to your ada, and keep nothing from me.  Now answer me honestly, for I can see something is amiss.  Are you well?”  Though I know he will find it irritating, I cannot help reaching out to touch his brow, checking for unnatural heat. I am correct in guessing that he would not like this.  He scowls and moves out of my reach and I almost laugh at the petulant look on his face. 

 

“You have asked me that same question for seventeen days in a row, Dwarf!  Yes I am well!  I have been perfectly fine for many, many days.  There is no need to continue asking.  I will inform you immediately if there is any change in the state of my health.”  He sighs and reaches out to grasp my shoulder, “Honestly Elvellon, I will tell you.  You can trust me.”

I reach up to pat the hand on my shoulder. “I trust you, Lad.” Yet I can see that something is on his mind. He has not yet perfected the serene look of more mature elves, and I have learned to read his face fairly accurately. Perhaps as we come closer to the Lonely Mountain, he is wishing he had never vowed to try to help relations between our two realms by visiting each other’s homes. believe this is a wonderful opportunity, but I would not sacrifice the child’s happiness for diplomatic purposes. I do not wish him to feel stuck in a bargain we made in the heat of an intense moment so I decide to let him off the hook

 

“It is not too late to turn back, Lad.  I would think no less of you, if you would rather go back home.  In fact I would be more than happy to see you return your family right away.  You are under no obligation to complete this trip.” 

 

Evidently this is not to be considered, for he squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath.  “I promised to go with you, and I will not go back on my word.  It would be most shameful to do so, especially after you have kept your end of the bargain.”

 

“Come let us make haste then.” I take his elbow and pull him along. I wish that I could promise that all will be well when we enter my home, but the truth is I do not know what the response will be. Old prejudices run deep, as was borne out to me on my visit to Eryn Lasgalen. While the King was most hospitable and grateful for my care of his only child, others were not quite so forgiving and made it quite plain that I was not welcome, not that I plan to tell the Laddie that. I must tell him to stay with me once we enter and then I will just hope for the best.

 

 

We walk along for some time and after a bit it becomes clear that we are climbing steadily upwards. Before long we come across the two pillar stones and the first of many steps we will have to follow as we wind our way up to where the River Running begins and to where the vapor mixes with water and pours out from the great arched gates.  As the stairs beside the river start to narrow, my heart pumps just a little faster.  Whatever happens, it will be good to be home. 

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

 

 

Ahead of us I can see the two pillar stones that mark the beginning of the steps that will lead to the great gates and my footsteps falter once more. I wish more than ever I had the courage to take Gimli up on his so generous offer to run back to the shelter of my Ada’s arms, but of course I do not. Instead I drag my feet and Gimli looks back at me with concern in his dark eyes.  I force myself to smile and shoulder my pack more securely as if I had stopped to readjust it before waving him ahead of me.

 

As we ascend the steps I try to go over in my mind all that I have learned about the dwarves of Erebor from my father and from Gimli himself. I have also gone over in my head all of the facts and figures that were stuffed there all those years ago by my tutor, I recite them silently as we climb upwards, Dáin, Thrór, Frór, Grór, Thráin, Náin, Thorin, Frerin, Dis and then back to Dáin again. So many names, so many dwarves.

 

Even though they live what are considered long lives for mortal kind, they come and go far more swiftly than I am accustomed to in my own life.

 

I watch Gimli’s broad back as he stumps up the stairway and my heart quails as I think of what the future will inevitably bring; Gimli’s death and our separation.  He has perhaps another hundred years or so if he is fortunate. To me it is like a blink of an eye. How will I deal with his loss?

 

He has become so dear to me. I have come to rely on his care and kindness in the last year. He is like a second parent and I love him as I do my father and it is for him that I keep walking up the steps as I do.

 

I will try my hardest to fit in within the community beneath the mountain and listen closely to my guardian’s advice. I know I must expect to meet with some prejudice from Durin’s folk for the enmity between our peoples goes back a long way, and while Gimli was careful not to show it, I am aware that he met with some unpleasantness within my father’s halls. Elves have long memories too and some find forgiving difficult.  I freely admit that I was one of them before I met and got to know Gimli son of Gloin.

 

Gimli has taken quite a gamble in asking for me to be invited to Erebor by the king and I must keep that at the front of my mind if I meet with resentment and attempts to put me out of countenance. My father has also taken a risk in sending me as an ambassador and I want to make him and the folk of the wood proud.

 

I am desperate also to make a good impression on Gimli’s family, for I know his love for them is as great as my own for my Ada. I met Lord Gloin back in Imladris but am sorry to say I probably did not make a very good impression upon him.  I snort silently. Who am I trying to fool?  I made a really awful impression upon him and he was a venerable warrior who deserved my respect for that if nothing else. I can only hope that he will be as willing as his generous hearted son and forgive me.

 

Lady Vonild, Gimli’s mother, is someone I know I am going to have to work very hard to win over. Her approval will be vital if I am to have any chance of making this visit a success, yet my knowledge of females in general, and dwarfish females in particular, is sketchy at the best.

 

I know they rarely ever leave the underground kingdoms that form their homes, that if they have to travel they are disguised as males. This is not as difficult as it may at first seem, for both sexes have beards and are of the same stocky shape and both are highly proficient in the use of weaponry. For while they may rarely appear on the surface, in defense of their homes and families female dwarfs are said to be ferocious fighters.

 

Dwarfish society is also matriarchal which seems strange to me, but as Ada pointed out to me that is because I have lived much of my life in a male dominated family and I should be foolish indeed to believe that the feminine gender wield any less real power than the male. He has preached to me the importance of showing both respect and courtesy to any matriarchs I come into contact with.  Perhaps there will not be too many if they are as strong and as fierce as I have been told.

 

For I know there are far fewer females than males and that there are even fewer children so that each child born is loved by the whole of dwarven society. That is at least is something our two races have in common, the love of children.  I can only hope that with Gimli’s support I can show both Lady Vonild and Lord Gloin that his relationship with me is not a mistake and that elves and dwarves can indeed be friends and allies.

 

For now I see ahead of me the great gates and Gimli is stopping on a wider side ledge brushing down his clothing and ensuring that his braids and beard are tidy, I hurry to do the same with my clothes for first impressions are important and I very much want to make a good impression.

As I straighten up I see Gimli looking at me closely and inspecting my appearance. His expression reminds me of my nurse and I shall not be surprised if he asks to inspect behind my ears to ensure they are clean.

 

Apparently he decides my appearance is ‘passable’ for he nods approvingly and asks if I am ready. I nod in return, being unable to speak, as there is a huge lump in my throat at the thought of entering this alien world.

 

The specter of Moria rises before my eyes. I take in the magnificent entrance ahead with its dwarven guards beside the open doors, but I see instead the closed stone of Moria, doors that once opened to us brought us into a place of death and darkness, horror and heartache.  I have to turn my face to the distant woods for comfort,

 

“Are ye ready lad?

 

“Y … yes let us go in directly, I am anxious to meet your family.” And if that is not exactly the truth I trust he will be so caught up in the pleasure of being home he will not notice it.

 

XXXX

 

We finally arrive at the top of the winding stairs and the familiar arched gates of my home.  I stop to brush the road dust from my clothing and to give the lad a moment to compose himself, for by this point he seems almost ready to bolt.  The whole time we have been ascending the stairs he has been asking me questions at intervals, about the succession of the Kings of Erebor and important figures and dates in Dwarven history. When I look back at him now, I see he is fussing with his clothes, arranging and rearranging everything.  His desire to make a favorable impression with my people is endearing and much appreciated, but the truth is no amount of knowledge will make much difference as to how he is received.  If the dwarves under the mountain do not welcome him, it will have rather more to do with his pointed ears, than his lack of knowledge of who were the second cousins of Thorin Oakenshield.  Still I dare to hope that since he was invited directly by the King himself, others will follow our leader’s benevolent example and at least behave in a civil fashion.

Yet I know intolerance of elves, and especially of Thranduil’s kin has been branded into the minds of many, including my own up until a scant few months ago.  On top of that the ones most responsible for my skewed views are the very ones he must win over in order to gain real acceptance by Durin’s folk.  My father, Lord Gloin, is a formidable warrior and very influential, being a kinsman of the King, but if Legolas is to have any hope at all, he must gain approval from my mother, Lady Vonild.  Females are considered rare jewels among dwarven society, and my mother is worthy of double honor having given birth to a daughter.  While we follow a king, there is no doubt that it is the females who are in charge when it comes to running things within the mountain, and Lady Vonild would have no trouble speaking her mind to the king himself were she to find a need for it.  I fear that the cards are stacked against the lad especially considering that he becomes tongue tied at best around females of any race, which likely can be attributed to having lost his own mother at a very tender age.  Still I like to remain positive and we must take this one step at a time, the first step being making it beyond the gates.

I glance back at Legolas to gauge his mood, and the look of unadulterated terror he is wearing makes me wish I had never asked this of him.  I do not speak of it however, because I know he will not turn back now, no matter how much he may desire to do so, so I simply ask if he is ready.  With one final fleeting look at the woods behind us, he replies, “Y … yes let us go in directly, I am anxious to meet your family.”  I chuckle to myself at this obvious untruth; the poor lad can’t lie to save his life, which is something I am sure he finds to be a distinct disadvantage in certain situations.  He takes a deep breath and courageously steps toward the gate, but I reach out a hand to prevent him.  I have one final thing I must say before we enter. 

“Whatever happens inside nothing will change between us.  I know this is not easy, but I am honored to have you with me and proud of you as well.”  I squeeze his hand and he smiles with pleasure at my words.

“Thank you, Gimli.  I shall try not to disappoint you.”

“That I know, Laddie, but you must remember one thing,” I put a hint of a warning tone in my voice, “we are making history here, and I do not know how things will go, but whatever happens you must not leave my side without my leave. I need to know your whereabouts at all times. This is not meant as a restriction, but is for your own protection and for my peace of mind.”  My voice sounds stern even to me, “Do you understand me, Elfling?”

I expect him to roll his eyes at this direction, but he does not. Instead he merely nods solemnly, which further verifies how very nervous he must be. And though I am eager to be home, I must admit to having trepidations about what the next seven days may bring. I say nothing more, however but just smile encouragingly, and then we walk inside.

When we step into the entrance beyond the gate it takes a moment for our eyes to adjust to the dim light, but when they do, I see that very little has changed in this past year or so.  The same cavernous entrance is still grandly decorated with shields and weapons hanging upon the highly polished stone walls.  To the right hangs the shield once used by the great warrior Náin in the Battle of Azanulbizer, and next to that the crossed throwing axes of his father Grór.  All these mementos of great deeds have been embossed with filigreed mithril, silver, brass or gold when they were retired from use and preserved for posterity.  Each artifact has a story behind it, and someday I mean to explain them all to my elfling, who now is taking everything in with wide-open eyes.  Right away his sharp eyes notice a mounting board in the very center above the main entrance and he asks why this one place is left blank.  I explain about Dáin Ironfoot’s Barazantathul being lost in battle and that it was considered the most formidable weapon every made by dwarfdom.  This place of honor has been saved for when the Great Red Axe is found.  I do not go on to explain about all the complications involved in retrieving it however, for now we have other things to contend with.  We have been seen, and are gathering quite a crowd of gawkers it seems. 

I grasp Legolas firmly by the elbow and begin pushing my way through the crowd, greeting old friends, but answering no questions, at least for now.  Some avert their eyes, some stare curiously and others glare openly as we make our way to the steps that will lead us deep inside the mountain.  I do not know exactly what to expect, for our precise moment of arrival could not have been known.  We will have an audience with the King perhaps sometime tomorrow, but for now I wish only to find refreshment and a place to clean up from our travels.  The heady aromas of roasting meats make me even more determined to do so.  Legolas seems to be of the same mind.  Sounding surprised, he comments as if to himself that the smells in here are very pleasant.  I laugh at this and wonder what he was expecting.

 We arrive at the bottom of two flights of stairs that empty into the Grand Hall that is ten times the size of the entrance and is the center of social life for my people.  Here things become even more uncomfortable, for each chattering group grows silent as we walk past, and most have no problem with staring openly.  We have made it halfway across, when I hear a familiar voice.

“Uncle!” 

It is my nephew Greirr, and standing behind him, my sister Dorbryn. After my long absence I had feared that he would not remember me, but that does not appear to be the case for he runs flat out, crashing into me and almost making me topple over. 

“How ye have grown, Beardling!  Why I am not certain if I am still able to pick you up!” I say as he lifts his arms to me.  I lift him high over my head and then he wraps both arms around my neck in a fierce hug, before twining one hand into my beard and pointing at the elf behind me.

“Who is that?” he asks in the blunt way that children have.

“This is Legolas, my friend who has come to visit us.”

“He is very tall,” Greirr observes and then directs his words to Legolas. “Are you from outside?”

My elf’s eyes flicker a question in my direction, and I nod to him. “Yes, indeed, I am from outside,” he answers looking intrigued.

“His hair is a strange color,” he reaches out to touch the golden locks, “and it is soft.”  He furrows his brow and looks at me, demanding, “Where is his beard?”

“He does not have one.”

“Is he going to get one?”

“Nay, Lad, he is not going to get one,” I chuckle as Legolas flushes under my nephew’s scrutiny. Greirr seems oblivious of the discomfort he is causing for he asks, “Do you find it strange not having a beard?”  He reaches out as if to touch the smooth skin when his mother finally reaches us.

“Enough, Child!” she says, taking her son from my arms. “You will wear Uncle’s guest out with all your questions.”  She turns to Legolas and says,  “You must excuse my son’s manners. He does not intend to be rude, but he has never seen anyone other than dwarves before so he is quite curious.”

“It is entirely understandable…umm…” he looks at me for help as to whom he is talking. 

“My sister, Dorbryn.”

“I completely understand, Lady Dorbryn.  I remember having such feelings myself as a child,” he says.  I smile because to my way of thinking he is still a child himself, though my sister and nephew have no way of knowing that.  Of course I do not say such, but just make introductions all around.  I am more than pleased with my sister’s kind welcome and don’t hesitate to tell her so.

“You are quite generous and open-minded, Sister.”

  

  1. Dorbryn giggles and says, “If you are crazy enough to invite an elf of the wood under the mountain, I have to trust that you must have good reason indeed to do so, Gimli.”   She looks at Legolas and declares, “My brother is a good judge of character. If you are his friend, then you shall be mine as well.”  She turns and beckons us to follow her, before glancing at me meaningfully and speaking in a low tone, meant only for my ears.
  



 “I cannot say that Mother or Father feel the same though.  They still don’t believe the rumors that you are bringing a ‘guest’.”  She does not mean for the elfling to hear her words as she is unaware of his sensitive hearing, but he glances nervously in my direction.  Without thinking, I reach out to take his hand for a moment, giving it a comforting squeeze.  Dorbryn gives me a questioning look, and continues to lead us away.  If nothing else, this should prove to be interesting.

 

*****

 

I do not know what I was expecting, save that it was not this and it is all I can do not to stand with my mouth gaping as I take in the wonders of Erebor.

The entranceway is broad and filled with trophies from battles in the past, light pours in from the open doorway and lamps burn in the sconces, so that it takes but a moment for my eyes to adjust to the change, The air here is still fresh and the rich smell of meat cooking makes my mouth water.

How very different this is to Moria, this place is full of life and noise.  I recall our entry into the mines and know now how Gimli must have felt when he saw it dark and desolate, devoid of all dwarven life. As I look around I see an empty plinth in the center of the display and Gimli briefly explains its purpose. While I know this is not the time I decide I must find out more about this axe, which the dwarves consider so important. There must be wonderful tales to be told of it.

For now Gimli is urging me up a broad staircase and acknowledging the calls from those of his kin that recognize him. I very much aware of the stares and mutterings that greet my presence. It is a little discomforting but I expected that to be the case, and in the last year or so I have become adept at hiding my discomfort at being an object of interest, for many men we met had never seen an elf before either.  I remind myself however that this is different, dwarves like elves have long memories and do not forgive easily and there will be some here who not only disapprove of my presence but actively condemn both me and Gimli for bringing me here. I repeat my promise to myself that I will be on my very best behavior and to stay near to my guardian while I am here.

Having ascended the great staircase I then find we have to go down again to access the great hall. I can see the sense in this though for this arrangement would make it difficult for attackers to storm the mountain.  Below us a hall similar in size and design to the Dwarrowdelf stretches out before us. This must be the main public meeting place for the families who live beneath the mountain. Our entrance causes quite a stir, but Gimli being Gimli takes no apparent notice merely marching on across the marble floor ignoring the whisperings, glares and sudden silences as we pass. I detect a broad mix of emotions amongst the dwarves watching our progress, hostility, amazement, interest and some amusement.

Gimli is suddenly hailed by a young voice and a dwarfling throws itself into Gimli’s arms. As they greet each other fondly I realize this must be a relative and the child is a male. I stare at him as interestedly as he does at me although I am glad to say I am sufficiently mature enough not to ask such blunt questions. Yet the youngster is probably only asking what many of the adults here would like to do. I feel a heat rise in my face as Gimli explains to Greirr that I will never grow a beard. Initially it seems strange to me that this youngster has probably never left the mountain or seen anyone other than his own kind, but I remind myself that it was many yeni before I saw any other than elves or was allowed beyond the boundaries of my own home and that had I met a dwarf back then I would have been just as intrigued by his strangeness as Greirr is with me.

 Another dwarf now hurries forward scolding Greirr for his questioning and apologizing to me I am at a loss as to how to address them but Gimli comes to my aid presenting her as his sister Dorbryn. I blink, for it had not occurred to me to ask if he had any family other than his father and mother and I know how rare it is for a dwarven family to have daughters. Perhaps that is why he did not speak of Lady Dorbryn while we were on the ‘outside’ as Greirr called it.

I bow and make myself known to the lady and she smiles and welcomes me with a cheery ‘My brother is a good judge of character. If you are his friend, then you shall be mine as well.’

I begin to feel as if my sojourn under the mountain may not be such an ordeal after all only to have that hope dashed as I follow her and Gimli out of the hall and into a long passageway as she says quietly to her brother  “I cannot say that Mother or Father feel the same though.  They still don’t believe the rumors that you are bringing a ‘guest’.” 

She obviously did not mean me to overhear her words but I do and my heart sinks. Gimli gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and I take comfort in that as I go further down into the mountain and towards my first meeting with Lord Gloin and Lady Vonild.


	2. Footsteps in the Dark chapter 2

 

Part 2

I cannot tell you what I saw on the way through the winding passages nor do I recall any of the many dwarves we passed by. My whole mind was concentrated on the upcoming introduction. Dorbryn and Greirr left us as we came to another hall, this less wide but no less imposing from this open space banded doors led off in several directions above the lintels were dwarfish runes which I assume were the family names of those who lived in this section of the mountain. Gimli paused before one door and seemed to brace himself before pushing it open and entering I having little choice trailed behind him and found myself standing in a well-appointed chamber. Comfortable seats and tables were scattered about. In niches carved into the rock walls were a examples of intricate and beautifully decorated jugs, chargers and goblets. On the polished stone floor there were thick brightly colored rugs and like all of the inside of the mountain home of the dwarves of Erebor I had seen so far the ceilings were very high so that my fear of constantly banging my head had been swiftly dispelled.

It was the sort of room I could enjoy staying in even though there were no natural sources of light. Save for the wave of disapproval and disapprobation coming from the two figures who awaited our arrival.

Lord Gloin I recognized from our meeting at the Council in Imladris. His hair was silver as was his beard but his eyes were as sharp as ever. He stood beside one of the chairs that flanked the fireplace, one hand on the shoulder of the other occupant of the room. My eyes were drawn from Gloin to the being I presumed was Lady Vonild. Her hair showed no sign of silver, it was as black as coal. Her beard also black was braided with red and green jewels, her dress was a rich red and she wore a wide  belt of what seemed to be beaten gold. Her expression was forbidding as her gaze swept over me and went on to her son.

“Be welcome in our home again Gimli son of Gloin.”

“I am happy to be so Vonild daughter of Urhild.” Gimli responded formally.

 I saw her eyes soften as Gimli went forward to kiss her cheek, saying chidingly “I am happy to see you well, Mam.”

Vonild’s hand caressed her son’s head briefly as she replied “As am I happy to have you returned to us safely my son.”

Gimli turned to his father offering a warrior handclasp but Gloin crushed his son to him holding him close as he too welcomed him home.

As Gimli stepped back from this embrace his mother turned her attention to me once more and her eyes were as hard as agate as she looked me up and down. “At the behest of my king Thorin Stonehelm I make my home yours during your short stay under the mountain Legolas son of Thranduil king of the Wood.”

It was hardly what I would have called a warm welcome. Vonild clearly did not wish me to be here and it seemed was only suffering my presence because she had been told to do so by King Thorin. From the corner of my eye I see Gimli stiffen at the coldness in his mother’s voice and I hasten to speak so that an argument could be avoided.

“I thank you for your welcome Lady Vonild, and thank you for your offer of hospitality.” I incline my head at her then turn to Lord Gloin and bow again this time as one warrior to another “Lord Gloin, I am happy to see you again.”

Gloin at least acknowledges my words with a grunt and a nod but he does not offer any further words of welcome seemingly leaving it to Vonild to lead the way. This she does by suggesting that I might wish to freshen up after my journey. Since this is clearly a ploy to be rid of me I agree hurriedly for I want nothing more than to be out of her disapproving presence. Gimli  is still frowning but seeing that I wish to go he is about to escort me when his mother asks him to remain with her and sends Lord Gloin to show me to the way to my bedchamber.

Gloin bows himself out of the room almost immediately leaving me to sit down on the edge of the bed and put my head in my hands. I wish desperately that I had never come here for my presence has clearly ruined Gimli’s homecoming and it is plain I am not wanted here.

Hardly has Gloin left me than I hear raised voices back in the main room. Normally I would not have listened, for eavesdropping is very wrong, but today I cannot help myself and the more I hear the sorrier I become that I had made the journey to Erebor.

“That was not a very warm welcome Mam” That is Gimli

“Warm enough for the get of Thranduil,” Vonild returns “I have not forgotten that it was he who imprisoned Gloin even should you have done so.”

“I have not forgotten either, but if I have not forgotten then I have been able to forgive, for there were faults on both sides and much has gone on in the world since then. It is more than time for these old prejudices to be laid aside.  Dwarves and elves fought together to see the end of the evil of Sauron. Can you not now extend at least a little warmth of welcome to one who I have named axe brother?”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Gloin and Vonild at this pronouncement “Axe brother?” Gloin questions his son

“Aye, Da, I have fought at the side of yon princeling for more than a year. He is brave, fearless in battle and puts the safety of others before his own. At least twice during the time I was with the Fellowship he saved my life. What else should I call him?  What is more I am honored to call him friend and it grieves me that those I love would treat him so coldly when he has come here in good faith to try and mend fences between the wood and the mountain.”

“Old enmities are hard to discard sometimes ” Gloin growls “But if that stripling has indeed saved your life then he deserves my thanks for that at least and so I will tell him.”

“Thank you” Gimli responds, “And what of you Mam?”

“I am grateful for what he has done” Vonild responds,  “But I shall be glad to see him gone from my hearth.”

I wince at the cold in her voice and quail further when Gimli replies equally as sharply to her words “we will be gone as soon as our audience with King Thorin is over. I will return to Eryn Lasgalen with Legolas for I promised his father I would see him safe home again and from there travel south to Rohan. You have my apologies for bringing a friend home and expecting him to be given a warmer welcome.”

And then I hear Gimli turn on his heel and head towards where I am sitting and wonder how I am to face him after having heard what had passed between him and his parents.

 

 

 

*****

 

 

The introductions I had hoped would go smoothly were a miserable failure.  Short of refusing to let us stay in their home, it could not have gone much worse than it did.  The daughter of Urhild must be the most stubborn and contrary female to ever set foot under the mountain, and though  my father may be slightly softer, he will  not officially change his view if it means going against his beloved.  Of course I still love them both dearly so it breaks my heart that we must cut short our visit, but I cannot allow Legolas to stay in a place where it has been made exceedingly clear that he is not wanted.  After the grand welcome I received from King Thranduil it seems a real slap in the face that my own folks are being so hard-hearted.  Still the King invited him and we could still have some positive results, but I have decided we will leave as soon as possible after our audience with Thorin, which will probably take place tomorrow, or the next day.  I cannot say I am entirely surprised by this reaction, but the disappointment is staggering anyway.  Yet I must rally my spirits in order to repair as much damage as I can with my elfling, for there is little doubt that he has overheard our argument, and must be feeling as down hearted as I am right now. 

 

 

I walk to the closed door of the bedchamber and paste a smile on my face before knocking once and then entering.  Legolas sits on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, and looks up when I enter the room.  He looks as unhappy as I have ever seen him, and it is more than clear that he has heard all that was said between my parents and I, and I regret ever allowing him to accompany me here in the first place.  I should have left him at home with his doting father, where he is much petted and adored by the whole household.  All the lofty plans we had to restore peace between our two realms now seems like a ridiculous fantasy, that was not worth making the lad so miserable for.  I sit next to him on the bed and put my arm around his slumping shoulders.  I do not even try to pretend all is well.

 

“Well that turned out to be a spectacular flop, didn’t it Lad?  Perhaps had I brought Sauron himself it might have been worse, though I’m not so sure even about that!”  He does not laugh at my jest, but merely groans and leans toward me, placing his head on my shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry, Gimli,” he says.

 

“Nonsense, Child, there is no reason to be sorry,” I reply. “Your behavior was perfect, your manners impeccable, your posture straight, your hair gleaming and your smile dazzling.” I continue trying to coax a smile.  “Anyone else would have been perfectly charmed.  It is just that Lady Vonild has dragon scales around her heart and they are very difficult to penetrate when her mind is made up to something.  We were fighting a lost cause it seems.”

 

I am gratified when he graces me with a half grin, and I pat his shoulder and stand up, trying to sound hearty and cheerful, “Come, Lad, let’s seek out Lady Dorbryn and convince her to feed us.” 

 

“I am not hungry.”

 

“You must not let my obstinate mam ruin your first chance to try real dwarven fare!” I insist. “Besides, you were hungry an hour ago, and Lady Vonild has retired for the night.  We will not hear from her again until morning. I will go freshen up while you do the same and then I will  return for you. No arguments!” I say before he can form a protest. 

 

  

  1. It is only a moment before I am rapping on the heavy door of Dorbryn’s small suite of rooms where she has lived with Greirr since the death of her husband in a mining accident when she was with child. She opens the door quickly as if she has been expecting us, and invites us to sit at her table which is already heaped with roasted meats, rich gravies and steaming platters of colorful vegetables dripping with butter and sauces. 
  



 

“I expected you might come, and while you may wish to eat in the public dining hall, I had hoped to have you to myself tonight, Brother,” she says.  “I have retrieved everything from the main kitchen and I have been keeping it hot. I hope it pleases you.” 

 

“It pleases me, Little Sister, and you please me as well,” I say kissing her cheek.  “Your kind welcome eases my heart.”

 

“I take it things did not go well with, Mother?”

 

“That would be putting it mildly indeed.”

 

“I am not surprised.  You know how she is Gimli.” She turns to address Legolas as she serves him first. “You must not take it personally, My Lord.  She is a difficult wall to breech and nothing short of handing her the Great Red Axe itself is likely to move her.”

 

“So she is still taking on about that axe is she?” I ask.

 

“Aye, she considers it a personal affront to her that the menfolk have not been more aggressive in trying to retrieve it.  Being a kinswoman to the King, she feels it is her duty to see it returned to its rightful place before she leaves this world.”

 

“Well if sheer willfulness can return it, it will soon be hanging in its reserved place of honor.” I laugh.

 

 

“I would like to hear more about this famous Red Axe, Elvellon,” Legolas says speaking for the first time since we arrived.

 

“Yes Uncle, tell the story of Barazantathul!” Greirr agrees enthusiastically.  So after we have finished eating the best victuals I’ve tasted since leaving for Rivendell, I light my pipe and begin the tale.

 

I tell of the great battle of Nanduhirion where Dáin Ironfoot’s father, Náin, was slaughtered by the infamous Orc chief Azog.  Náin’s neck was broken in the fight, and Dáin, who was just past the age of battle readiness, courageously used the Red Axe to remove Azog’s head from his filthy shoulders.  The axe went everywhere with the young warrior, until the time came where it was lost during the Battle of the Five Armies.  Dáin left the Great Axe buried in an orc’s skull and barely made it to safety beyond the crumbling bridge where it is still today considered no longer safe to trod.  That is why it has never been retrieved, because of the dangers involved in trying, though my mother would likely say it is just the laziness of the male species that makes it so. 

 

Greirr claps his hands at this telling and Legolas looks intrigued as well.

 

“Where exactly is this axe, now?” he asks.  I can practically see the wheels turning in his scheming head.  Not likely that I will answer that question!

 

“It is not important to the tale for you to know that, Elfling.  Suffice it to say that it cannot be retrieved.”

 

“Do you not trust me, Gimli?” He is attempting to look hurt, but I do not let that stir me.

 

“You know I trust you with my life, Lad.  I just do not trust you with your own,” I say and to make sure he knows I mean business I add, “Say no more about it.”

 

“But Elvellon…” he tries again, but when I clear my throat and raise an eyebrow in a look he has come to understand, he merely frowns and crosses his arms in a huff. 

 

My sister, trying to salvage the situation, changes the subject.

 

“I saw that the kitchens had ready some new barrels of ale and it looked like none other than Erebor’s finest Bitter!  Your friend must not leave here without trying it. Come with me to fetch it, Brother.” 

 

Lovely idea that!  I follow Dorbryn out leaving Greirr with Legolas to await our return in a few minutes.  As we walk she talks of what has gone on in the year of my absence: Greirr’s beginning formal lessons, Father’s trick knee acting up, the loss of King Dain and his funeral rites.  After a while she begins asking of me and my friendship with my elf.

 

“I can see he is very dear to you,” she says, “You treat him with more care than one would a comrade or even a brother.”

 

I tell her of how the lad came to be in my charge, and briefly of our year together and our return to Eryn Lasgalen. “He has become like my own child, Dorbryn.  I can think of no other way to express it, and I just cannot let him remain here while Mam is behaving so coldly.  I should never have brought him.” 

 

She pats my shoulder comfortingly, “Your dilemma is worse than I had thought at first, but keep heart!  I think he is charming and Greirr is certainly intrigued.  You must be patient and not act too hastily.”

 

Perhaps she is right.  No one has been openly hostile anyway, and that had been a possibility in my mind.  We arrive at the kitchens and fill our mugs with the beautiful black liquid, leaving a proper thick head of foam.  This evening has turned out to be rather pleasant, and as we walk back to her rooms, I think no matter how things play out, it is always nice to be home. 

 

 

 

 

XXXXX

 

 

 

 

I refuse to be the first to blink so I continue to frown at the young son of Lady Dorbryn. We must look like a very strange pair of mismatched cats involved in a staring match. Why did Gimli leave me here with this dwarfling? I am not a child to be left safely in the nursery with other young ones, even though Gimli appears to believe it to be so.

 

“Behave yourselves and look after each other” he told the pair of us as he and his sister disappeared out of the door. I am only surprised he did not pat me on the head. My lips twitch as

I see Greirr is struggling to maintain eye contact and then he blinks. I want to cheer at having won but realize that would be considered childish, and belatedly I recall that I need the young one’s help if I am going to be successful in what I am considering doing.

 

My visit to Erebor has so far been a disaster, well perhaps not a disaster but close enough. Gimli’s parents have made it plain they dislike me intensely and while his sister has been kindness itself inviting me to share a meal with her I feel uncomfortable and out of place under the mountain.  Worse my presence has led to a schism between my friend and his parents, something that I heartily regret. He looked so hurt when he came to my room and yet he did his best to hide his dismay at our reception and attempted to cheer me up.

 

It was then that I began to wonder if there was any way that I could make amends or improve relations between Lady Vonild and her son. Although I wracked my brains over it, it was not until Lady Dorbryn mentioned the great red axe and Lady Vonild’s long held desire to find it and return it to the king and I heard the full story about Barazantathul when Greirr begged a tale from his uncle, that the vague idea that had been floating in my mind began to coalesce into a serious plan.

 

If I could find it and present it to Lady Vonild maybe she would at least forgive her son for bringing me here. Of course if I am to have a chance of doing such a thing there are several things I will have to set in train and I must not waste this present opportunity.

 

“Well done Greirr” I commend the young dwarf, who is now blinking furiously.  “That was well managed. You almost out stared me and that is no easy thing for someone to do to an elf.”

 

Greirr who had been scowling now smiles “Is it?” he asks eagerly “I have never met an elf before” the youngster hesitates then pleads “will you tell me some stories of the ‘outside’? “

 

“Of course while I am here” My gaze goes to one of Greirr’s books “but first would you show me something of your home here in Erebor.”

 

Greirr nods enthusiastically and I wonder if this was how Gimli was as a child, the thought of my doughty guardian being this young and innocent makes me want to laugh and share the jest with young Greirr. Instead I know that I have just been gifted with an opportunity to find out things that I may be able to use to my advantage even though it means I must abuse the youngling’s offers of friendship to do it. I hope the outcome will outweigh the fault eventually but I feel guilty doing it even so.  I harden my heart and ask “Do you have a book that shows the axe Barazantathul and where it was lost? Gimli’s story tonight has made me anxious to find out more about it.”

 

“Oh yes, I’ll get it.” He hurries off leaving me waiting anxiously hoping that Gimli who is far too sharp brained for my liking does not return and catch me plotting.

Fortunately, Greirr is soon back in the main room, an open book in his hands.

 

“Here it is” He thrusts the book at me, “Here is a picture of the Great Red Axe. It is magnificent isn’t it?” Greirr does not wait for an answer instead he turns another page and says, “And here is a picture of the hall where the battle took place. This is the bridge” he adds one stubby finger tracing the narrow stone walkway that crosses a wide chasm. “Of course this was drawn before the battle and the damage is that area is very bad, so I have been told.”

 

I study the illustration before me intently, committing as much of it as I can to memory. I have to  repress a shudder for the dark staircases and deep depths remind me too much of Moria. Still I remind myself I survived that I can do it again and if there is any way I can do this small service for my friend and heal the breach between him and his parents I will. Of course I will have to be very careful if I am to avoid Gimli finding out what I am about. I know far too well the outcome should my dwarven minder get to hear of my plan and my rear end tingles in anticipation. There is an additional problem of course, I have to find an opportunity to carry out my audacious plan and that will be difficult.

 

“And whereabouts in the mountain is this hall?” I ask trying not to sound too interested.

 

“Oh, off near the north door, but that way has been blocked for many years now. The bridge is in such a poor state that no one has been able to cross the shaft to make repairs and retrieve the axe.”

 

“Your daernaneth, I mean Lady Vonild,” I explain the words to the puzzled dwarfling, “seems to believe it is only a lack of application that stops the Red Axe being reclaimed. She did not seem to think it would at all difficult to get it back.”

 

Greirr laughs as if  knowing better than to take notice of his grandmam’s grumbling  and answers that even the Lady Vonild has admitted in her more reasonable moments that to retrieve the axe would be not only difficult but very dangerous.

 

I continue to ply Greirr with questions managing to bury my misgivings at using the young one as I am for this may be the only opportunity I will have to find out what I need to know. But I make certain that when the door opens to admit Gimli and Dorbryn the book is closed and I am in the middle of telling a fascinated Greirr about the White City in Gondor.

 

As we walk back through the still busy hallways I do my best to project an innocent demeanor, chatting about how pleasant it has been talking with Dorbryn and Greirr and wondering how our meeting with the king will go. I hope I have done enough to allay any suspicions but it is sometimes difficult to tell with Gimli and can only hope for the best.

 

Once I am alone in my bedchamber I take a piece of parchment and begin to sketch out the illustration I had seen in Greirr’s book I also search through some of the volumes that have been left on a side table for my edification and pleasure and am delighted to find a book showing how the halls had been developed over the yeni. This worthy tome written in dwarfish runes still provides me with a great deal of information and I add what I have gleaned to the parchment sketch.

 

Smiling I fold the paper and put it in an inside pocket of my suede tunic where it is unlikely that it will be found by anyone, especially a certain someone by the name of Gimli. He would raise an absolute outcry if he were to get even the faintest whiff of my plans. Of course I admit even if I outwit Gimli there are still several obstacles in the way of my retrieving the Great Red Axe.

 

The first and most formidable is Gimli himself of course. The dwarf has already said I am not to leave his side while we remain under the mountain. I fall into reverie still trying to find an acceptable answer to this thorny problem. My preferred solution, dropping him into a well during my absence, is tempting, but I have to admit, unlikely to work!

 

I wake at what I think would be dawn although there is no real way to tell. There seems to be a deal of noise coming from the main room and I can tell that something is amiss. Hoping that my friend is not arguing with his parents again, I listen unashamedly as I hurry through my ablutions.  My eavesdropping tells me that this time the problem is not my presence but some catastrophe that had occurred deep in the mountain where new tunnels are being mined. From what I can tell both Lord Gloin and Gimli are intending to go and help with the rescue attempt but want Lady Vonild to take charge of me during their absence something she is apparently reluctant to do.

Her reluctance is nothing to mine. The thought of being under the unforgiving eyes of Gimli’s naneth while he goes off to perform a rescue is less than satisfactory in my opinion.

Yet this misfortune may prove to be my opportunity to carry out my plan to retrieve the Great Axe if I am careful. I can only hope so.

 

My arrival in the main room has the effect of bringing their discussion to an abrupt end. Since I know he will certainly not expect me to meekly accept his arrangements for my entertainment in his absence I say immediately “There is no need for Lady Vonild to stay with me Gimli, I am not a child. I will accompany you and Lord Gloin, there may be something I can do to help you and if there is not I promise to keep out of the way of the rescue.”

 

Gimli lays a hand on my arm, “Nay lad, I thank thee for the offer but I won’t have time to worry over you, it is better if you stay here with mother.”

 

I manage a creditable pout, muttering to myself about not needing a carer and then think of something else that might put a spoke in my wheel, the upcoming meeting with King Thorin. “What about our meeting with the king?”

 

“King Thorin has more important matters to do than dance attendance on you.” Vonild snaps angrily.

 

I flush and am about to try and explain what I meant when Gloin speaks up on my behalf.

“I do not think the lad meant insult Vonild, he just wanted to know if it had been postponed is all. It is the proper thing to have done.”

 

Vonild looks a little abashed but soon rallies. “That is as maybe but I still do not see why I must waste my time here with him when I could be of more use in the kitchens or healing wards. Can he not stay here on his own?”

 

Annoyed as I am at her words I immediately answer, “Yes”

 

Even as Gimli says, “No!”

 

As mother and son square up it is left to Lord Gloin to offer a compromise, “Perhaps Prince Legolas could spend the day with Dorbryn and Greirr?”

 

Gimli looks relieved at his father’s suggestion and I, seeing a chance to escape the eagle eyes of Vonild, agree to this with alacrity, “That is an excellent suggestion Lord Gloin. That way I will not be a burden to Lady Vonild and I did promise Greirr to work on his Westron with him if I had time. This will be the perfect opportunity.”

 

“Then that is agreed” Vonild says rising to her feet, looking as relieved as I am at this reprieve. “You two should be on your way, I will see Legolas to Dorbryn’s door so he does not have to walk the halls unescorted.”

 

Gimli looks at me under those dark brows of his and I can see he is suspicious of my too quick acceptance of this arrangement, “You promise you will stay with Dorbryn?”

 

If I am to allay his wariness I am going to have to act swiftly “Once I get there I will stay until you return or someone else comes to collect me.” I promise “Although I still do not see why I cannot come with you and your father.” I add angrily.

 

This complaint seems to settle him for he chuckles “Another time lad, now be good.”

 

And he is gone.

 

Vonild and I are left staring at each other and it is me who looks away first “I will not put you to the trouble of escorting me to Lady Dorbryn’s.” I say “I know the way and as you said you have other more important things to be doing. I do not wish to be any more of a burden to you than I have already been. It has never been my intention to cause dissent between you and your son. I am sorry that I have done so.” I accompany this with a sweet smile and while the lady merely sniffs I think her opinions of me must be softening a little for she insists I eat first meal before I leave and actually sits with me as I do so.

 

Then she walks part of the way down to the communal kitchens with me, causing me to panic as I fear she may take me by the hand and escort me all the way to Lady Dorbryn’s which will put an end to my plans not to mention embarrassing my eternal life out of me.

But seeing a friend of hers she sends me on alone reminding me to behave and not to lead her grandson into any mischief.

I bow and make my escape before she can change her mind, I am happy to see that the hallways are for the most part quiet those not involved in the rescue apparently being busy preparing for the return of those who will hopefully be rescued and I am able to slip away from the main thoroughfares and make off for the North Gate without being seen.

 

 

 

 

*****

 

 

“You promise to stay with Dorbryn?”  I am a little suspicious of his willingness to agree to this arrangement, since I know he must be chafing under my restrictions. Perhaps I am being over protective, but I am not certain of the climate here yet, and he has a reputation for finding trouble, plus I have promised his father I will keep him safe.  I will not be able to concentrate on this rescue if I am worrying over what the lad is getting up to on his own. 

 

 

“I promise Gimli. Once I get there I will stay until you return or someone else comes to collect me.” All this cooperation is worrying, and I am getting ready to question him further when he continues, “Although I do not see why I cannot come with you.”  I do not have time at present to explain about all the training it takes to assist in this sort of rescue mission, so I just admonish him to be  good, gather my equipment and follow my father out the door. 

 

I am anxious as to what we will find when we arrive to the disaster site: toxic gases, explosions, fire, smoke inhalation, folks trapped or bodies crushed. All are real possibilities when it comes to mining accidents, so we are greatly relieved to find that the situation is not as dire as it could have been.  An exit has been blocked when a side tunnel collapsed, trapping several dwarves inside it.  The good news is that there are no serious injuries, and the air is good in here.  It will be only a matter of carefully removing the rubble without causing further damage and opening up the exit.  We begin the tedious work and before long we have made an opening large enough for the ones trapped, to crawl cautiously out.  Most of the victims have received only cuts and scrapes from the falling debris, which is part and parcel with this sort of work. 

 

I had expected to spend the entire day on this rescue, but as it has happened we will return before noon meal, so it is with light hearts that my father and I walk back together.  It has been pleasant working by his side again, and I remember that I have not yet thanked him for coming to Legolas’ defense with Mother this morning.  I do so now.

 

“It was nothing, Lad,” he waves away my gratitude with a broad gesture, “I can see that it is important to you that this visit go well, though I am not certain what you were expecting from your mother.  You know how set in her views she is.”

 

“I also know that she has a kind heart beneath all her bluster and ranting.  I had hoped she would see past the obvious and recognize the lad’s good intentions, instead of letting old prejudices rule.”

 

“Then you are very optimistic indeed, but perhaps things will improve when you see the King.  You must hope for the best,” He says, “Now I think we should collect your friend before heading back. Greirr’s questions would wear out even the most patient among us and he may be in need of a reprieve by now.”

 

I laugh at this remembering my nephew climbing all over Legolas and interrogating him with less than polite questions, in spite of his mother’s efforts to restrain him.  He had managed to unwind one of the elf’s braids to see how it was done, and begin an inspection of the pointed ears, before Dorbryn had pulled him off and scolded him to keep his hands off of the guests.  I am still smiling at this image as I knock lightly at Dorbryn’s door.  It is my nephew who opens it.  .

 

“Uncle!” he shouts enthusiastically, and then peers around the doorframe. “Where is Legolas?  I have something important to ask him. Why didn’t you bring him with you?”

 

 It takes a moment for his words to register.

 

“He is here with you.  At least that’s what I thought.”  I walk in and look around as if that will make him appear, but all I find is my sister looking at me questioningly.  She has not seen him, or Mother either.  She assumed he was with me.  It makes no sense, and it has not even occurred to me to be concerned yet, until I see the illustrated book lying next to Greirr’s scattered toys.  I pick it up to examine it.  It is a book about the Great Axe.  The very thorough author has included detailed maps to its whereabouts.  A slight shiver runs down my spine.

 

“Did you show this to Legolas?” I ask my nephew.

 

He nods vigorously, “He asked special to see it. He’s a magnificent starer. First he beat me in a staring contest then he stared and stared at those pictures. He had lots of questions about Barazantathul.  I am teaching him all about our history.” 

 

My pulse quickens as I realize the full implications of what Greirr is saying. I was foolish to let that crazy elfling depart from my side for even a moment.  I should have known he would not settle for the welcome of my sister, but would need to repair things with my mother as well. 

 

“He has gone after it,” I tell my sister.

 

Her eyes grow wide, “You must be in jest. That bridge is a death trap. He would never make it across.” 

 

“That I know, but nevertheless that is where he has gone.”  I am one hundred percent certain of this. I should have tied our wrists together before taking a step away from his father. 

 

 I tell my sister to take him back to Mam’s  if he returns while I am gone, and then I am on my way to the North gate. I know my way, and I do not slow down to answer any questions.

 

I find the blocked entrance to the cavern that holds the Great Axe and somehow I make my way inside.  To my dismay, I find I have come to the wrong place. How could I have made such a mistake? The yawning chasm looks the same, but there is no bridge here, just clouds of dust from fallen debris.  Frustrated, I turn to exit so I can find where I have made this mistake, when I notice for the first time that Gloin has followed me. 

 

“We are in the wrong place,” I shout to him.  Only then do I notice his stricken face.

 

“We are not in the wrong place, my son,” he replies, “the bridge is gone.  It has collapsed.”

 

*****

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Footsteps in the Dark pt3

Author: Minnie and Beth

The few dwarves I encounter seem as anxious to avoid me as I am to avoid them and I find that by staring straight ahead and looking as if I know where I am going most are prepared to let me be. Oh there are a few mutterings and dark looks but no more than I anticipated at the beginning of this disastrous visit and if I can actually pull off my plan then I hope that my presence will be tolerated if not approved of.

 

Once away from the main halls it is much quieter. The usual guards have obviously been called away to assist in the rescue and the tunnel that leads to the north door is deserted. Slipping easily around the blocked entrance I find myself in another hall, similar in design to the one that Gimli and I came in at yesterday. Light still filters through from the shafts built high into the ceilings above me and I can see the damaged bridge that spans the chasm that leads to the outside.

 

I step as close as I dare to the edge of the drop and peer into its depths. Far below me I can hear water, it is dark and dank but does not feel evil as Moria did. Yet it is clear that a great battle took place here.

Any dwarven casualties have long since been moved away but there are still stray Orc arrows and spears on this side of the bridge and my sharp eyes can make out skeletons and goblin armour on the other side. Somewhere amongst that pile of bones is the Great Red Axe. Now all I have to do is find a way to cross the bridge and locate it.

 

That is a great deal easier to say than it is to do I find. The bridge is as Greirr said in a very poor state and I see now why the dwarves have not yet attempted to retrieve their prize relic.

 

Since I know they are both determined and stubborn, or at least Gimli is, and he appears to be a fair representative of his race I do not doubt that eventually they will turn their attention to attempting a rescue of the axe. Of course during the war they had more urgent matters at hand and there was little danger of an attack since the way outside is as far as I can tell completely sealed so it could be left there in perfect safety.  Even so, ever cautious the dwarves had set up a guard post to see to it that the way was watched for I passed it only a moment or two ago. It would need only a single guard to stand here and prevent anyone who managed to get in from the north gate from crossing the bridge. I put one light foot on the end of it and feel it move beneath my feet. Any goblin or orc who was foolish enough to attempt to access this entrance would have ended up falling into the abyss below alongside the bridge itself. Of course that could also be my fate should I attempt to use the stone walkway. I will have to find another way to cross.

 

If I had my bow with me and some hithlain rope, I could easily get over the gap, but I had to surrender my weapons at the gate as we entered Erebor. I frown then recall the small stone gate house still partially standing, a little way back down the tunnel and hurry off to see what I can find that may aid me in my quest.

 

Someone has stored orc and goblin weapons here, obviously taken from the beasts that they slaughtered in the battle. I find a bow, not of the quality I am accustomed to using but serviceable enough for my purposes, also some arrows and dwarven rope and return to the edge of the shaft.

 

Fitting an arrow with rope attached I fire it across the gap and test to see that it has bedded itself securely in the strong wood of the great gates. Satisfied with that I tie the rope off at this end and then taking a deep breath and calming myself, step out onto it.

 

This is just as simple as crossing the river at home I remind myself keeping my gaze firmly on the wall opposite not on the gaping chasm below my feet. It is the work of a moment to cross and find myself on firm ground again. I retrieve an old torch and light it using my flint which I keep in my belt pouch.

It is a gruesome task I have set myself, yet I do not flinch from searching amongst the remains of the slain Orc and goblins and eventually my search is rewarded. Here, lodged deep into an orc skull just as the stories said it would be, is the axe.

I lift it free reverently for I know its importance and history and strap it securely to my back before beginning to make my return across the rope. Almost immediately I feel the difference and the rope begins to swing under the additional weight of the axe. I barely manage to set my right foot on solid ground when the arrow pulls away from the door and the rope skitters back across the ground bouncing as it reaches the edge of the gap. This sends a few small pebbles over the edge and that small amount of movement sets the remains of the stone bridge wobbling before falling in on itself and crashing down into the abyss below. The roar seems to go on and on echoing in the empty chamber and dust rises high up into the roof.

 

I do not wait to see if the noise brings folk to see what has happened but race off down the tunnel.

 

Before I get to the main hallways I wrap the axe in my tunic so that it is hidden, just in time for a group of dwarves are coming this way laughing and talking, I step into a side walkway and make my way back towards Gimli’s sister’s home.

 

I am sure that once I show her the axe she will support me when I have to explain to Gimli what I have done and that he will be so happy to present it to his mother that his anxiety and anger over my conduct will be forgotten.

 

That is I hope it will!

 

XXXX

 

 

Dwarves do not swoon, but I admit that if it were not for my father’s steadying hand, my knees might buckle as I stare down at the gaping abyss.  Visions of Moria and the terrible loss we suffered there flash into my thoughts, only this time it is my own sweet elfling who might be lying at the bottom, broken and buried in the rubble of the fallen bridge.  My first thought is that I must find a way down.  Legolas detests dank, dark places.  I cannot leave him down there alone, but I do not know how to get to the bottom.  Then a solution seems to present itself.  Tied to a jutting rock formation, I see a rope, which hangs inside the wall of the chasm. Looking down I see a black arrow halfway down, bouncing off the smooth stone. So that is how he tried to make it across!  I test the knot and finding it secure, I am almost ready to begin lowering myself when I hear Gloin’s panicked voice shouting at me to stop. He grabs my arm and I am surprised by the strength his iron grip.

 

“Ye must not try it.  The rope didn’t hold even his slight weight; it will certainly not hold yours!” 

 

“I cannot leave him Da’.”  I must make him understand so he will release my arm!

 

“I know, but if we are to have any hope of retrieving his bod…” I glare at him, daring him to finish that sentence.  He cuts off those words and tries again, “If we are to find him, we must get help.  Be reasonable and listen to me!”

I know he is right, but I find it to be the hardest task I’ve ever undertaken to turn away and leave my elfling behind in that cavern. Yet there is no time to waste, so I drop the rope and run back to alert the rescue crews that they are needed again. On our way, I try to dispel the visions that keep threatening to enter my thoughts. I try not to let the logical part of my brain consider my father’s earlier words that we are likely looking for a body. I try not to think of bringing the broken corpse of an only son back to the father who trusted me with his life. I try not to consider my own life without this child who has come to mean more to me than any other. But as hard as I try, these thoughts sneak in, so that by the time we arrive my hands are shaking badly, and my vision is blurred to that point that I wonder if I will be of any use on a rescue mission.

I stop to take a deep breath, and try to orient myself.  I have been blindly following my father, and now I realize we are just outside his door, where he quickly sticks his head in to tell mother what we are about. He pales as he steps back and makes a strangled sound in his throat, and then beckons me.  He moves back and gestures for me to enter ahead of him into the room.

 

The first thing I notice is my mother, standing with her eyes and her mouth wide open. Then her mouth moves as if to speak, but not a sound issues from her. It is the first time I have ever seen the daughter of Urhild rendered speechless. I turn to see what is the cause of this wondrous event and when I do, my theory that dwarves never swoon is nearly proven wrong for the second time in one day.  I feel the blood drain from my face, and I find I must hold onto the doorframe to remain upright. 

 

It is Legolas.  I don’t know how, but it is not my imagination for I could never have imagined such a sight.  He’s covered with dirt and grime from head to toe. Dust coats his hair and clothing, and I can see where his grubby hands have left marks on Mam’s furniture.  My first thought that she will have something to say about that, seem out of place in this situation. 

 

Even filthy as he is, he is a glorious sight to behold, though I can’t quite shake the feeling that I am looking at a ghost.  I feel I must have my hands on him to truly believe what I am seeing and without thinking about it, I find myself across the room.  I wonder why he looks fearful as he tries to dance out of my reach, but for once I am too fast for him.  I wrap both arms around him in a crushing embrace, and then grab him by both shoulders in order to hold him away from me, so I can get a better look. 

 

“I thought you were lost to me, Child!  Are ye hurt?”  I look him up and down checking for injuries, but he is standing on his feet and trying to wriggle out of my grasp, so he must not be too bad off.  I pull him down so that I can kiss the side of his head, and I do not even mind the mouthful of dust I receive for my effort, so happy am I to see him alive. 

 

It is only when I release him and step away that I notice what he is holding in his hands.  Barazantathul!  He has managed to come out on top in spite of all the dangers that lay in his path. 

 

“No need to wait, Lad,” I say gesturing toward Lady Vonild. “Go on. Give it to her.”

 

 

Legolas goes down on one knee and holds the Great Axe up with both hands, offering it to my mother, “I wish to thank you for opening your home to me, my Lady, and I hope this token will make up for any inconvenience or discomfort my stay here has caused.”  His words are as fiery coals upon her heart, for her hard exterior seems to melt away, leaving her soft inner core exposed for all to witness. 

 

Tears roll freely down her face, as she reaches out to stroke his cheek, before taking the axe from his hands. “Never have I received such a bonny gift, son of Thranduil. Ye shall be ever welcome in my home and please forgive this old lady her stubborn pride.  My son does well to call you axe brother.”  She bows low and continues, “Thank you, Lad.  I shall never forget your bravery and kindness, though I am ashamed that I drove you to go to such dangerous extremes to gain my approval.”

 

Seeing my mother holding the famous Red Axe, I am surprised that I do not feel more excited than I do.  When last I saw it, it seemed very grand indeed, and all the years of hearing and telling the tale of it’s prowess in battle and how it is the most formidable weapon ever formed by dwarf kind, has perhaps made it seem even more magnificent in my mind.  I glance briefly at my mother for permission and then take it from her hands.  Turning it over and over, I fail to see the greatness of it.  It is large and formidable indeed, but when all is said and done it is really only sharpened metal with a painted red handle.  Now it will become a decoration, for all who enter the Gates of Erebor to admire.  Another treasured artifact among many, many treasured artifacts.  For this thing, Legolas has risked his life.  For this _wall hanging_ my elfling was almost lost to me!  Does he not consider his life worth more than this… this bit of iron?  I feel the ire begin to rise within me and my face becomes hot. The axe rattles in my hands as I turn to glare at him. He cringes as he sees my face.

 

“It is only an AXE!” I shout waving it in a wild gesture. My father quickly takes Barazantathul from me and wraps it in a blanket, hiding it from view as if he fears I might go pitch it into the deepest ravine in Erebor. A good thing too, for that is exactly what I’d like to do with it, to be quickly followed by one dust covered elvish prince.  Never have I been so angry, and my face must be a sight for both Dorbryn and Mother are staring at me with wide-open eyes.  As I advance toward Legolas and see him looking nervously about, I hear both feminine voices pleading with me to be reasonable.

 

“Now, Brother you must calm down!”

 

“He only did it to please me. I drove him to it!”

 

“His heart was in the right place.”

 

“All’s well that ends well, Gimli.”

 

I barely hear all their well-meant words, for I have one goal in mind.  The Lad has earned the walloping of a lifetime and I am about to deliver it, but before I can get to him I run into an obstacle in the form of Lady Vonild.  She stands directly in front of me with her feet planted wide apart, and her hands on her hips.

 

“You must stop immediately.  I cannot permit this!”

 

“Get out of my way, Mam,” I say, trying to walk around her, but she will not have it.

 

 She puts both hands on my chest trying to prevent my forward movement and states, “You are too angry. Now sit down and calm yourself!”

 

My sister seems to agree.  “Mother is right, Gimli.  You are too angry to deal with him fairly right now.” She then turns to Legolas and says, “Don’t stand there gaping, Child. Get out of sight!”  He is quick to heed her advice and I hear the door to the bedchamber slam behind him. 

 

I allow my mother to lead me to her table where I sit and I accept a mug of amber ale from Dorbryn.  I am still furious, but there is no point in fighting the feminine force that has come up against me.  I am not ready to give up though. “You cannot protect him forever, Mam.  After that stunt he has it coming.”

 

“Aye, I understand,” she says patting my arm, “but well do I know your soft heart, my son, and you will regret it something terrible if you deal with him in anger.”

 

She is right of course.  On top of being stubborn and willful, she is also kind and wise so I will do well to listen to her advice.  Still when I think of the ramifications of what might have happened it is not easy.  Never mind, my own grief or that of King Thranduil.  Had the princeling died trying to retrieve that axe, the rift between the wood and the mountain would have widened beyond repair.  I shudder thinking about it.

 

Lady Vonild and Lady Dorbryn can be quite charming when they are of a mind to, and soon they have me feeling more myself with their chatter about the gossip that is going about the Grand hall. Next they are asking my opinion on what should be served at the upcoming feast they are planning.  My father sits smoking in the background, adding a word or two here and there as well. I light my own pipe and slowly the knot in my gut begins to loosen, and I am much more relaxed.  It has been nearly two hours and not a peep from my elfling.  I am certain he is suffering from all this waiting so I rise to go to him and end his misery.  Still my mother places her hand on my arm.

 

“You do understand why he did it don’t you?” she asks.

 

“Yes Mother, he wanted to get in your good graces and mend the rift between us.” I do understand that he meant well. 

 

“No doubt that is so,” she says patting my hand, “but the real reason is because he loves you.” Her eyes go to the door of the bedchamber and then back to me, “Remember that my son.”

 

“I will keep it in mind,” I say kissing her cheek. I will remember it, yet good intentions do not make up for everything.

 

 

 

 

XXXXX

 

 

“Don’t stand there gaping, Child. Get out of sight!” 

 

I do not need a second recommendation and hurry to put some space between myself and my irate guardian.

 

I stand with my shoulders to the door waiting for Gimli to come after me for I know well what that expression of his forebodes for me and know also that I will not be able to prevent it trapped as I am under the ground. There is nowhere for me to run even if I wished to.

 

My heart begins to race as I hear Gimli shouting angrily, but it seems Lady Vonild is not the head of the household for nothing for Gimli does not immediately appear in my doorway she having ordered him to sit down and calm himself. I offer up a prayer of relief for that, for facing Gimli in a rage is not something I have any wish to do.

 

It seems I am to have at least a temporary reprieve and I welcome it for my own mind is racing and I need time to put my thoughts in some kind of order before I have to face the consequences of my actions.

 

Stepping away from the door I turn and catch a first glimpse of myself in a burnished mirror, I stare in momentary disbelief at the reflection that looks back at me I look truly terrible. My hair, face and clothes are covered in grey dust; my eyes are the only hint of color left in my face. No wonder Lord Gloin thought he was seeing a ghost, when he came in just now and I can see why Lady Dorbryn and Lady Vonild also stared at me in surprise when they first saw me.

 

I had given no thought to the fact that I would be covered in dust and dirt after the collapse of the bridge so anxious was I to get back to Lady Dorbryn’s before my absence was noted. I shake my head and grey ash and dust flies off, coating the floor and surfaces with a fine sheen of particles, that will scarcely endear me to Lady Vonild although that might be the least of my worries presently.

 

So much is becoming clearer to me now. When I reached Dorbryn’s door she had flung it open and then given a cry of surprise before snagging my arm and dragging me off without giving me an opportunity to argue, up the hallway to Gloin’s home.

I thought her actions were strange at the time and put it down to the fact that perhaps Lady Vonild had checked up on my whereabouts; found me not where she had supposed me to be, and had ordered her daughter to bring me before her as soon as I did arrive at her door. I expected to be have a real peal rung over me, but like her daughter, Vonild just stood and stared to begin with and then uttered something I had never thought to hear from her.

 

“Thank Mahal you are safe.”

 

I had scarcely recovered from that shock when the door opened behind me and Lord Gloin looked in. He made this strange strangled sound when he saw me standing there, then looked behind him and beckoned for someone else to enter.

That someone was of course Gimli; he looked even more shocked than his father and grasped the lintel of the doorway as if needing it to keep him upright. If I did not know that dwarves do not faint I would say he looked as if he was about to.

 

He recovered swiftly however and crossed the room so quickly that I was unable to avoid being clasped in his strong embrace as he cried “I thought you were lost to me, Child!  Are ye hurt?”

 

I did my best to wriggle out of his grasp while assuring him I was fine but it is not until he had planted a kiss on my cheek that I got free.

 

He then saw the Great Red Axe and I saw his amazement and delight in having it returned, and he told me not to delay but to present it to his mother.

 

Here at least I got the reaction I was expecting when I retrieved the axe.

I got down on one knee and presented it to Lady Vonild.

 

  

  1. “I wish to thank you for opening your home to me, my Lady, and I hope this token will make up for any inconvenience or discomfort my stay here has caused.”   I said and saw that my words and the gift have had the effect I hoped for, for she reached out to stroke my cheek and I saw she was crying.
  



 

 “Never have I received such a bonny gift, son of Thranduil. Ye shall be ever welcome in my home and please forgive this old lady her stubborn pride.  My son does well to call you axe brother.”  She replied, “Thank you, Lad.  I shall never forget your bravery and kindness, though I am ashamed that I drove you to go to such dangerous extremes to gain my approval.”

 

I was about to say that there was no danger when I heard this low growl behind me and I saw Gimli’s darkening expression.

 

And with that sudden rush of knowledge that comes sometimes, I realized that not only did Gimli know I had retrieved the axe but that he and his father must have gone after me somehow and seen the broken bridge and the rope and had feared that I had fallen into the abyss and been killed.

 

And it was then that I knew my days on Arda were numbered and the number seems to be rapidly diminishing if the voices in the next room are anything to go by.

 

I decide to take a chance and wash off the worst of the dust from my face and brush my hair, after that I take a seat on the edge of the bed, my hands clasped tightly in my lap.

 

There is nothing for me to do except wait … and wait … and wait.

 

My fear for my future grows over the next two hours and it is with a mix of relief and dread that I finally hear his footsteps approaching and I stand to meet my doom at least on my feet to begin with.

 

As the door opens I take a deep breath and lift my chin. No one will accuse me of cowardice even in the face of this wrathful dwarf lord.

 

He does not speak but merely looks at me with those dark eyes of his, eyes that speak more plainly than words of the worry and fear my recent conduct has elicited in him.

 

“I am very sorry,” I manage.

 

“Are you?”

 

“I know I should not have done it without gaining your permission.”

 

“Then why did you?”

 

I drop my gaze to my dusty boots, and I wonder how I can explain without making things worse. Do I tell him that it is because I wanted to make things right between him and his mother, or that I thought it would be a good thing to do to help with relations between the mountain and the wood? Or the real reason, which is that there is nothing I would not do to make him happy whatever it takes and whatever danger it may place me in.

 

As I hesitate over which answer to give, Gimli takes the decision out of my hands and growls,

 

“Ye do not have to tell me child, I already know. And while it does not excuse you, I do understand the reasons for what you did. The fact that you have brought back the Great Axe is something that will undoubtedly stand you in good stead when we meet Thorin tomorrow. And just as I prophesized you have managed to win over my Mam.”

 

He then stops and scowls, “though I would have preferred you to have done so in a fashion that did not place you in danger of losing your immortal life.” His calm facade breaks a trifle here and he splutters, “You could have died in that shaft … and then … then,” his voice cracks, “then what would I do without you?”

 

This loss of control and his simple plea is what undoes me entirely, and I all but throw myself at him telling him that I am not worth upsetting himself over.

 

Perhaps that was not very wise I decide as he first shakes me fiercely then swings me around, seats himself on the bed, and hauls me over his lap. Now that the punishment is upon me I wish with all my heart that I was anywhere but in this horribly embarrassing position even knowing that I truly deserve this for the hurt and worry I have caused my friend. Gimli’s hand lands with that first jarring swat on my backside and I have to bite my lip to prevent myself from shouting out.

That is something I am determined not to do. I will not humiliate myself by crying out and adding to my present mortification. I do not harbor false hopes that his family in the main room will not know what is taking place, nor that this will undoubtedly lead to their losing any little respect that they may still have for me now that they know I am called to book in what they must know is a childish fashion.

 

Yet Gimli is as determined and in a far better position than I am to have his way in the matter. My leggings are now peeled down exposing my already red backside and he sets to with a will to break down my remaining barriers by paddling my rear end into submission.

 

It is the shortest of time before my best of intentions are broken, a whimper escapes and then a sob. Any pride that I might have had in my being able to withhold tears is as easily stripped from me by my indomitable guardian as my leggings just were.

 

“S… sorry, so sorry!”

 

“Aye I know,” Gimli responds and then surprises me by pulling me up and holding me against his chest, “all done and all is well between us. I feared so, Laddie, when father and I saw the collapsed bridge and the rope. My heart almost stopped. What would I do without you in my life?”

 

“Spend less time walloping people” I sniffle and he laughs and I drop my head onto his broad shoulder and allow him to comfort me, but even as my eyes drift closed I recall that I will have to face up to Lord Gloin and his family all too soon and I groan.

 

 

 

*****

 

I recall the collapsed bridge, and the swinging rope and the horror I felt when just a few short hours ago I believed Legolas to be crushed at the bottom of a pit.  This was no careless mistake or thoughtless action.  To carry out what he has done took some serious scheming and planning and so I continue my task with a clear conscience that I am doing the right thing.  Each time my hand falls, great clouds of dust are raised until it is almost as if we are back in the shaft with the falling debris. This does not deter me however, and I continue on with a will to make him see the folly of his actions. Though I have calmed down considerably since earlier, his words that he is not worth getting upset over have raised my ire again.  Where does he come up with such foolish ideas?  Yet I know that anger can cloud my judgment, just as dust is clouding this room, so at his first ‘sorry’ I pull him up into my arms.  A lump forms in my throat as I say a prayer of thanksgiving that I am not dealing with the other possible outcome for this day. I knew there were only two, and I am thankful that it is this one.  It could just have easily ended with me hauling his broken body out of the abyss and the thought nearly overwhelms me. I hold him tighter to me for a moment and try to explain how I felt when I thought him lost.

 

“What would I do without you in my life?”  I implore him.

 

His breathing is a little hitched as he answers, “Spend less time walloping people.”  I laugh as he drops his head onto my shoulder. 

 

“Perhaps I might spend less time walloping people if people would spend more time thinking through the possible consequences of their actions,” I say, tapping his forehead with one finger. “I could have lost you today, and for a dreadfully trivial reason.  Do you not think that I value your life more than any mere weapon, no matter how famous it is?”

 

His shrugs as his eyes begin to close.

 

I shake him a little and growl, “Unacceptable answer, Elfling.”  His eyes open in alarm at the warning in my voice.

 

“What I meant to say is that of course I know you care for me more than any axe, even if it is legendary. I am not thinking straight, that is all.” He looks at me with true remorse, “I am honestly sorry, Elvellon.”

 

“Aye, I can see that you are, Lad.” What he says is so; I can see it.  There is no doubt he is sorry.  Sorry he got caught out and has ended up in his current situation.  I am certain he is sorry that my family might be aware of what has taken place between us.  He is very sorry indeed that his actions have upset, and worried me so much.  But is he sorry he risked his life to retrieve Barazantathul?  Somehow I doubt it, and no amount of pounding is going to make him sorry for that so I have no intention of trying.  I cannot change his nature, nor do I want to.  All I can do is keep everlastingly at it and hope someday he will learn to be more careful with his life and well-being.  A dwarf can dream anyway, and I like to think of myself as an optimist.

 

I continue to stroke the golden head resting against my shoulder as I look around the room.  Everything is covered with a fine layer of dust, and I’m sure I do not look any better considering I have spent the better part of this day inside different dusty shafts.  I start to tell my elfling that perhaps we had better clean up, when I realize he has fallen asleep.  I think of waking him up, but decide against it and instead disentangle his hand from my beard and leave him sleeping on the dusty coverlet.  I will go make myself presentable and then come back to work on this room before Mam sees it. It will not endear either of us to her if she’s sees the state of her floors and furniture. 

 

As soon as I exit the bedchamber, I notice a chill in the air that wasn’t there before and it seems to be coming from the occupants of the main room.  Greirr, who I had forgotten about but who has likely been here the whole time, glares at me with a right good will.  His brow is furrowed in a fierce scowl and his hard black eyes follow me across the room.

 

“What is wrong little nephew?” I ask patting his head.

 

“Mam says we must be nice to guests,” he says crossing his arms in a pout, his scowl deepening,  “and you are Not. Being. Nice!” He stomps his foot for emphasis.  I look to Mother for help only to find she is ignoring my presence with a vengeance.  Even Dorbryn looks amused at my discomfort so I only sigh and continue on my way.  I take my time refreshing myself for I am in no hurry to enter in among the ravenous wolves that are my mother and my nephew.  When I do finally make an appearance, Mam is finished with the silent treatment it seems. 

“That child has not eaten since first meal, Gimli. There is no need to keep him imprisoned in that bedchamber!” She scolds. Since when does she think I would starve someone into submission?

 

 

“I did not say he must stay in there,” I protest, “he is there entirely by his own volition.”  It is clear she does not believe me.  Feeling like a villain, I return to the bedchamber to flush Legolas out so my family can see I have not damaged him. 

 

When I enter I see he has changed clothes and his hair is still wet from a recent wash, and he is just finishing cleaning the room as well.  I help him find clean linen and we change the bed, leaving the dirty sheets and blankets in a pile in the corner of the room.  I then begin the arduous process of coaxing him out of the privacy of the bedchamber.  I wheedle and sweet talk, and even bribe, promising all will be well. When that doesn’t work, I resort to practically begging.

 

“ Please come Lad, Mother wants to see you.” I plead.

 

“I would rather stay in here, if you don’t mind.”  My methods of persuasion do not seem to be working so I change tactics.

 

“I do mind,” I inform him, “you will come out without arguing any further.” I take his arm to assist him in leaving, but he plants his feet firmly and pulls out of my grasp.

 

“Please don’t make me Gimli,” he entreats me, “it is too embarrassing.”

 

But I will not lose this argument. “Perhaps you should have thought of that when you were planning your day this morning, Elfling!”  I send him toward the door with a smart swat to his already tender backside, which elicits a yelp and an offended glare. Too late I think to hope that no one in the next room has heard this altercation  
.

Legolas’ appearance causes quite a sensation. If I didn’t know better, I might think he was a beloved warrior son returning from battle. First Greirr runs to him, wrapping his small arms around the elf’s slim waist. When Dorbryn finally frees him from her son, Lady Vonild is quick to offer him the most comfortable chair in the room. It is too short for him, of course, but is plenty wide enough that he can easily fold his long legs up under him in the seat. I guess it is acceptable for him to have his precious feet on the furniture, even though I recall many times getting cuffed in the back of the head for that same action in my youth! It is really rather ridiculous how she coos over him and plies him first with food and then with molasses taffy she has made herself while we were both busy earlier.

 Greirr has climbed into Legolas’ lap and begun with a bit of charcoal a drawing of his ‘guest from outside’ holding the Red Axe.  It is his intention to add it as a final chapter to his other ‘Barazantathul book.”  In spite of the animosity I still feel from Greirr, I cannot help smiling at this image of my elfling with my nephew cuddled in his lap.  I store it away as a reminder of this special time when good relations between our folk began to be restored.  Our talk turns to our meeting with the King, and I mention my earlier intent to leave shortly after that.  This really gets my mother’s dander up!

 

“You must not leave so soon,” she insists.  “After all that Legolas has done to return Barazantathul to us, he deserves to be here to see it set in its place of honor and to be at the feast that will no doubt follow.”

 

My mother obviously feels we should throw a festival for the Lad for almost killing himself.  Somehow that does not sound like a good idea for encouraging good behavior, so I voice my dissent. “For what he has done he deserves to be fit for a leading string that should be securely attached to my belt, until I can return him to his escort along with a full report for King Thranduil.”  He looks thoroughly horrified, so I relent just a little, “I am in jest Lad, but you are not to be out of my sight again even for a moment until I am able to return you back home.  I will be sleeping on your floor this night.” Again my mother offers her so welcomed support.

 

“How can he possibly enjoy his stay here, tethered to your side so?” she argues.  “I am sure a Lad so full of energy does not want to spend his time watching you drink bitter and spin yarns with a bunch of boring old codgers.”

 

I have no hope at winning this so I give in, though not entirely, “He will stay in my sight, Mother, for I have made a vow to his father, but I promise he may do whatever he desires. I will follow him wherever he wants to go.” Evidently this is acceptable for she smiles and pats his hand before I add, “Within reason that is.”  My mother and my elfling share a look, and I can see he would like to roll his eyes, but knows he is on too thin of ice to indulge in that.  My mother, however, having no such reservations, goes ahead and rolls hers. 

 

“You can be such a spoil sport sometimes, Gimli.”

 

I am considering going back to Eryn Lasgalen to live where I am more appreciated.

 


	4. Footsteps in the Dark chapter 4

I awake with a start, roll over onto my back and immediately roll back again, hissing as Gimli’s recent lesson is recalled to my mind and my backside!

I am sore and sorry, but also more at peace than I have been for some time. I have paid the price for my recent choices. Do I regret them? Well obviously I would have preferred not to have been walloped as I was, but overall then no I do not regret my decision to go after the axe.

In fact I would do it again, although I might be more careful in covering my tracks and ensuring that my overanxious guardian did not find out about my exploits in quite such a terrifying fashion. Believe me I know just how frightened he was , my rear can attest to that, and I would not wish to put him in such a state again, at least not in the near future.

I sit up cautiously and for the first time notice the film of dust that appears to coat every surface in the room. If I were at home and my chambers looked like this I know very well how Chi would react and Lady Vonild is just as house proud. I have upset her enough already I can hardly afford to leave my quarters in this state.  
Deciding that first I need to bathe and change my raiment I do so, and the hot water eases the ache in my rear a little much to my relief. I am just finishing off cleaning the room when Gimli returns.

He helps me strip and change the bed and then announces that he wants me to return to the main room for his ‘Mam’ wishes to see me.  
I try to persuade him that it would be better for me to remain here but he is not to be swayed and indeed proves to be so intractable that I am actually reduced to attempting to prevent him forcing me to move.  
It is a pointless effort for he only needs to apply his hand to my still sore posterior to get me moving in the direction he wishes.

I am in dread of the reception I will receive; I fear that Gimli’s family will think me poor indeed seeing that I am young enough to be disciplined in the manner Gimli has chosen. My face flames as I let out a yelp, knowing that sounds carry in the mountain and that Gloin, Vonild, Dorbryn and even Greirr will be all too well aware of what I have suffered at their son’s hand.  
Yet willing or not I am forcibly propelled into the main sitting room and to my complete surprise am welcomed, not only welcomed but cosseted. Lady Vonild urges me to sit beside her in a very comfortable chair. Lord Gloin nods and welcomes me back. Lady Dorbryn, having set a meal before me and urged me to eat, sits beside me to ensure I do so.  
The meal is welcome as is their apparent lack of censure or amusement at my predicament and Lady Vonild has even found time to make molasses taffy a treat I am inordinately fond of. As I sit enjoying this special treat, Greirr comes to sit with me telling me he wishes to sketch me holding the axe so he might add this special page to his book.

I look up from all this petting and spoiling to see Gimli watching me, amusement in his face and a knowing smile in his eyes. It is plain he knew what sort of reception I would receive from his family even if I did not.

Talk turns to our meeting on the morrow with the king and Lady Vonild has a sharp exchange with her son on his desire for us to leave straight afterwards. She it seems is intent on my remaining for the feast, which she assures us, will be called for when the Great Red Axe is presented to the king. I take a peek at Gimli as Vonild speaks and know he is less than enamored of this idea. He no doubt believes I should not be feted and praised after putting myself so recklessly at risk, but his Mam will not be gainsaid and I would wager my best bow that hers is the view that will prevail.  
In the meantime once Dorbryn has carted off a protesting Greirr I abandon my seat and sit instead at the feet of Lady Vonild, who encourages me to rest my head in her lap while she runs a hand over my hair, humming softly.

I awaken to find that someone must have carried me to bed for I am tucked up under a very comfortable quilt and I know that it must be well after dawn. I roll over onto my back and this time the twinge I feel is little more than a discomforting reminder of the day before. Sitting up I see that my formal clothes have also been taken out, hung up and made ready for my meeting with the king under the mountain.  
Slipping out from under the quilt I wash and dress swiftly, donning the silk leggings and shirt the velvet tunic, doeskin boots and mithril belt that are deemed necessary for such an engagement. To my disgust my mithril circlet is also placed out ready for me to wear. I consider hiding it but realize that whoever unpacked my travelling trunk must already have seen it. Instead I leave it where it is alongside the long open fronted over robe in deep green velvet and open the door into the main rooms.  
Lord Gloin, Gimli, Lady Dorbryn and Greirr are already there, all dressed in their finest outfits. Gimli is wearing the velvet cloak he had made for Estel’s coronation so I know how seriously he is taking the upcoming meeting.  
Having somewhat shyly returned their greetings I go over to the table where the axe I retrieved yesterday now sits. Someone, probably Lord Gloin has cleaned and polished it until it shines, the edge has been honed to perfection, it is magnificent, truly a beautiful piece of weaponry.

Gimli scowls at me when I reach out to touch it, not to stay my hand but I suspect at the smile of satisfaction that has appeared on my face. I do not think he will ever be reconciled to its retrieval given the danger he believes I was placed in.

Dorbryn tells me I look ‘very fine’ and I blush at the compliment for I find it quite discomfiting. Gimli’s scowl is replaced with a smile as he sees this and he laughs.

“Aye, he’s pretty enough that’s for sure.” He teases.

“Gimli!”

“It’s true enough lad,” he chortles, ignoring my ferocious glare at being termed ‘pretty’ “There will be more than one dwarven maiden and matron who will lose their heart to you this day I’ll wager.”  
“Do not embarrass the child” Vonild scolds her son as she enters “He does his father and his people proud. I shall be pleased to walk beside him to the King’s Hall aye and to acknowledge him as a member of my family as well.”

We all turn to welcome the head of the household and it takes me all my time not to stand with my mouth agape for I know the honor that has been accorded to me by Vonild’s words. “You do me great honor my lady” I tell her, taking her hand and kissing it punctiliously.

She pulls my head down and kisses my brow, “No son of Thranduil, it is you that does my family honor, my son was fortunate indeed to have you by his side on his journey and I am happy to acknowledge it, albeit belatedly.” She wipes her eyes as she takes in the magnificence of her family then squares her shoulders. “Well let us be on our way, it will not do to be tardy.”

I offer her my hand and she takes it, Lord Gloin carries the axe, which is now covered in a dark red woolen shroud while Dorbryn, Gimli and Greirr fall in behind us.  
We are almost at the outer door when Dorbryn calls out, “Your robes Legolas.” And hurries off to collect them. I do not dare catch Gimli’s eyes as I reluctantly shrug into the over robe and position the circlet on my head for I know he will be grinning at my having been caught out again.

Sometimes I hate that dwarf!

Still I am happy to have him with me when we reach the receiving chamber of King Thorin. I have grown accustomed to magnificent meeting halls, my own father’s hall being spectacular enough, but the throne room under the mountain is stunning. Mighty columns rise almost as far as even my eyes can see into the vaulted beams above our heads. The carvings on them are beautifully drawn. The symbols and runes speak of an ancient folk with traditions in art and design that are as handsome as any I have seen elsewhere in Middle Earth. The walls are decorated with gems and crystals that sparkle in the light of many torches. Rich wall hangings show the history of the Aûle’s children, good and bad and I hope I am allowed a closer look at them before I leave. I know I am fortunate to be given this opportunity to see these wonders for myself and will be sure to let others know of the beauties wrought by the dwarves below the earth.  
The throne room is filled with dwarves of all kinds and as we make our way down the centre of the hall I am aware of the many glances that come our way and am suddenly glad that I am dressed as I am. As our party comes to an end I look up at King Thorin.

The king sits on a stone throne at the top of a steep flight of carved alabaster steps. Light streams in from the vents high in the vaulted ceilings so that he is illuminated, as is the embossed gold tooling on his leather armour and his crown.

 

We are welcomed warmly enough and when I am called upon to pass on the greetings sent by my revered father mighty king of the wood to the new king under the mountain I do so without error and I can see Thorin is impressed when I actually manage a word or two in Khuzdul which I have been carefully coached in by Gimli.

We exchange pleasantries and Thorin asks me of my role in the Quest and then says that he would wish us to meet again in private to begin negotiations meant to pave the way to better relations between the mountain and the wood something that I know my father will be pleased about.

I make all the correct noises over this and step back my part in the audience over for now and Thorin looks down at Gimli and his family.

“Welcome home Gimli son of Gloin and Vonild, we have heard some of your exploits in the outer lands and look forward to speaking to you at length over what happened in the far south, but for now,” Thorin turned his coal black eyes to Lady Vonild “I have been informed that our guest has retrieved something of great interest to us, and that he then presented this something to you.” He smiles and I think that I could get to like this king. “I trust you will not think I am too inquisitive Vonild daughter of Urhild, kinswoman and honored clan chief, but I would dearly love to know what it was that Prince Legolas placed in your care.”

Vonild takes the shrouded axe from her husband, moving forward to stand next to Thorin’s throne.  
She lifts her voice so that everyone present can hear her words “From our hands to yours oh mighty king. Long has this treasure been lost to us, now thanks to the efforts of Prince Legolas son of the elven king Thranduil of Eryn Lasgalen it is returned to its proper place. Behold the Great Red Axe of Barazantathul.”  
As she speaks Vonild pulls the cloth off the axe and hands it to Thorin with a courtly bow. There is a gasp of disbelief from the assembled court and everyone cranes forward to catch a glimpse of this, their greatest battle axe, and axe which has long been lost to them.

The king takes the axe looking as surprised and shocked as everyone else there but then grasps the haft of the axe and lifts it high into the air calling out.

“Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!”

And the whole assembly erupts into cheers and shouting with many dwarves pushing forward to shake my hand and demand to be told just how I managed to return their treasure to them.

I think this is going to be a very long day.

XXXXX

Even though I still do not approve of how it came about, I cannot help being pleased at the scene before me. When Mam’s tough exterior is finally penetrated, she can be as sentimental as the next matron, and it seems that Legolas has finagled his way into her heart. She coddles and pets him in the same outrageous fashion she does with her own grandson, often much to his mother’s chagrin. What I am most surprised about is that Legolas seems to enjoy receiving the attention as much as she does giving it. I would never have expected this after our visit to the White City, where he removed himself from the company of any doting females with as much haste as possible. He seems perfectly comfortable with the situation though, and charms my mother and sister further when her tries out the new Khuzdul phrases he has been practicing. These words spoken with what is deemed an ‘adorable accent,’ by my sister, must be the most enchanting speech ever to pass the lips of anyone under the mountain if we are to judge by the amount of praise that is bestowed upon him. If he has not already won Mam over completely, he certainly does so when, seeing my father standing next to the hearth, he quickly stands up and graciously offers him the chair he has been occupying. Vonild and Gloin both smile in appreciation of his fine manners.

He catches my eye briefly and I nod my own approval, causing him to beam with pleasure. I feel my heart begin to soften as it always does; no matter how determined I am to remain stern. Foolish and careless he may sometimes be, but I cannot stay annoyed with him for long seeing how eager he is to please me. Still it would be less exhausting if he were to attempt to do so in a rather less spectacular manner. As the evening wears on I begin to feel the full effect of the day weighing on me. I’ve been through enough wildly fluctuating emotions for a lifetime packed into a few hours and I hope tomorrow will prove to be a bit less dramatic. Legolas must be experiencing similar feelings for soon after Mam has encouraged him to place his head in her lap and begun stroking his hair; he falls into a deep sleep. No doubt this is the first moment he has felt relaxed enough to sleep so soundly since we left Eryn Lasgalen.

I start to awaken him, but Mam will not have it, so I easily lift him and am surprised when he does not stir. He must be very fatigued to sleep through being carried like this, but he does not wake up even when I shift his weight causing his head to roll onto my shoulder. I incline my head toward the door of the bedchamber, indicating to Dorbryn that she should open it for me. She does so and also pulls the quilt back and tucks it up around him as soon as I deposit him onto the bed. I chuckle thinking of how embarrassed he would be to know she has performed this service that she probably does every night with her own son. She sees nothing strange in her actions though as she brushes the hair back from his face. As she turns to leave she nearly stumbles over the traveling trunk parked at the end of the bed. This reminds her of something.

“Do you suppose he has proper attire for the meeting with the king tomorrow?”

Thinking about the fuss he made when formal clothing was called for in Eryn Lasgalen, I tell her that probably depends on if he did his own packing or not. She hesitates only a moment before opening the trunk and begins removing items, hanging them up and brushing the wrinkles out. I laugh as she exclaims over the mithril circlet she finds carefully wrapped and folded in among soft fabrics. Evidently his packing was at least supervised or that item would never have made it into the trunk. She finally is satisfied that everything is ready, and we depart the room and say our goodnights. I am asleep almost before my head hits the pillow.  
When I awaken my first thought is that today is a day history will be made. Long will the tale be told of the return of the Great Axe and the surprising hero who managed to recover it.

When I have dressed and made my way in to the common room I see the axe lying on the table, having been cleaned and polished to perfection. What might be a glorious sight to others makes me quake. Never in my whole life will I be able to look at it and not recall the harrowing experience of yesterday when I thought the course of my life to be changed forever.

Legolas appears in the room looking very regal indeed and immediately goes to admire the axe, reaching out to touch the gleaming metal. It is clear that he is supremely pleased with his accomplishment and I have the strangest desire to tweak his ear in order to wipe that satisfied look off his face. I restrain myself, however, and must be content with teasing him about how pretty he looks in his formal attire. This removes the smile from his face just as effectively as a box to the ears would have, and I am inordinately pleased with myself for I can no longer abide his self satisfied demeanor over having almost killed himself for this weapon. Even though I know it is a childish response, I am amused at the scowl that my teasing elicits. It is more comical still when Dorbryn remembers his robes and circlet when we are almost out the door and rushes to fetch them for him. The dismay in his face makes it clear that he had thought he was home and dry on the issue of having to wear them and I admit to chuckling at his discomfort. After all I should get some entertainment out of this situation after everything he has put me through.

But as our party walks on together toward King Thorin’s receiving chambers, I feel a great satisfaction with how this visit is turning out. After our less than warm reception, I would have never dreamed that my mother would have such a change of heart, even declaring Legolas dwarf-kin, a member of her own clan. It is much more than I had hoped for, and it is a fine picture they make walking hand in hand on the way to meet the King.

The Royal Hall is as magnificent as ever and I enjoy watching Legolas’ reaction to the grandeur, his eyes growing large in delight. I look around at the staring crowd. I did not expect so many to be in attendance for our audience with the king, but it is not every day an elf of the wood is seen under the mountain and having a meeting with the King to boot. Certainly some have come to hear what the king will say to this stranger, and others have come just to gape. This will likely be the topic of gossip around the Grand Hall for weeks to come, and they don’t even know about Barazantathul yet. I cannot imagine the chaos that will erupt when the Great Axe is revealed. The lad may indeed wish he had not been so hasty in retrieving it after all.

When Legolas is called upon to speak to the king, he does so beautifully, even correctly saying all the Khuzdul words we practiced so diligently together. His father would be tremendously pleased, and I can barely contain my own pride in him as he says all the right things without making one mistake in speech or decorum. It is a big step in healing relations between our realms. Then it is time for the big event.

Mam plays to the crowd as she uncovers the axe and hands it to her kinsman and king. All present, even King Thorin himself murmurs in disbelief at first, but the king recovers quickly. He lifts the Great Axe high over his head and shouts at the top of his voice.

“Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!”

 

This battle cry has the crowd on its feet immediately, each dwarf trying to out shout the others to find out how this wondrous feat has been accomplished. The crowd pushes forward, everyone trying to get a closer look at the axe or to touch the one who has been able to rescue it from its former resting place. Legolas looks at me in a panic, having been hemmed in from all sides by the roaring crowd and I shoulder my way through the melee until I am standing next to him where I try my best to offer some protection. Seeing our predicament, Mam whispers something to the king, who raises his voice again, calling for silence. When the crowd turns toward him, he makes an announcement.

“Today is a glorious day. This day the great treasure once belonging to my esteemed father and king, the great warrior Dáin II Ironfoot, has been returned to its rightful place. Tomorrow evening Barazantathul shall be positioned in the place of honor that has been long reserved and then we feast! We shall all hear the tale of how Barazantathul was regained tomorrow together!”

With that the crowd departs, swiftly. Preparations for tomorrow’s events will have to be made immediately if the king’s wishes are to be fulfilled. Legolas is seemingly so relieved at this sudden reprieve, that we are home, changed back into ordinary clothes and sipping tea, before he thinks to ask me what the king meant when he said the crowd would all hear at the feast tomorrow the tale of how the axe was retrieved.

“He meant exactly what he said, Lad,” I say, laughing at the anxiety that suddenly shows on his face. “This is an event that will go down in history, so of courses everyone will want the tale of how it was achieved.”

“I only wanted to bring back the axe,” he protests, “not get up in front of a crowd and tell a story about it.”

“As I said before, you should have thought this through better then,” I say unsympathetically. “Dwarves are famous tellers of tales, and it will not do to leave this one untold. You are the only one who knows exactly how it happened, so who else better to tell it?”

Looking thoroughly panicked he begins to stammer, “I…I cannot possibly! There must be some other way. Please tell me there is some other way, Elvellon!”

“I’m sorry, Elfling, there is no other way,” I say patting his hand comfortingly. “You will have to either tell the tale or offend the king.” And then my wet blanket of a father kills my fun.

“He’s only having you on, Lad,” He says and Legolas throws me a dirty look. “The story will have to be told, but you will not have to do the telling. You can tell it to me and I will spin it into a yarn worth retelling for generations to come.”

Legolas lets out a breath and clutches his chest in relief, but then he has something else to say, “I will tell you, Lord Gloin, but not in front of Gimli. He can just wait with everyone else to hear the tale.”

My father and I both chortle over this proclamation. No doubt he would rather have the protection of the masses around him when I hear all the details of what happened on his misguided and unapproved adventure.

“Very well,” I say, standing up to exit the room, “I can see I am not wanted here. I shall go and hunt out my nephew and see how his drawings are coming along.”

As I said when we first passed the gates of Erebor, this will at least be interesting. I am looking forward to tomorrow and the tale of the Return of Barazantathul. At least I think I am.

 

XXXX

I think it is the sound more than anything that overwhelms me, I have attended many a feast before some in stranger surroundings than this, but perhaps never one where all present appear to be speaking at the top of their voice.

All around me dwarves are talking, laughing, singing as the feast King Thorin commanded runs its course. I am sitting at the top table, an honored guest, feted and thanked by the king, for my return of the Great Axe. Earlier today there was a ceremony to see it placed in triumph on its allotted plinth and there was much rejoicing that such a great piece of dwarven history was restored to the folk of Erebor and now we feast and listen to songs, poems and tales of the Red Axe told by the best story tellers. I admit to the fact that my understanding of Khuzdul is limited and much of what has been said has passed me by but it is clear from the reactions of everyone else present that these tales are much appreciated, just as the stories and ballads of the battles and triumphs of the First Age are enjoyed by the elves.

So, I do what I can to catch the meaning of the songs and laugh or thump the table when others do to show I am enjoying myself. In truth, my stomach is tied up in knots and I can scarcely force food past my lips but I am not my father’s child for nothing and I keep my head high and a smile pinned to my face even while I wish myself leagues away from here.

Not because I do not enjoy the company I am in, or the fine foods that have been placed in front of me. Gimli has long boasted of the hospitality of the dwarves and I now know he did not exaggerate. It is just that all too soon Lord Gloin will bring the feast to an end with a telling of how I rescued the Axe and even should he temper his words I very much fear that Gimli will fly into a rage when he hears the truth of my ‘daring’ rescue attempt.  
I was able to postpone an appointment with his wrath last evening by refusing to tell my story to any save Gloin, but tonight all will hear of it and although I have done my best to play down any danger to myself, Lord Gloin was there at the bridge and saw for himself what I had done and his questioning of me last night, done he said in a spirit of ‘getting the full truth to enable veracity was sharp enough to leave me in little doubt as to where Gimli gets his stubborn determination from.

The latest song comes to a rollicking end amid much cheering and laughter and the king rises and calls for silence before commending all to listen to Lord Gloin. This is the part of the evening I have been dreading and wish now that the floor would open and swallow me up as Gloin gets to his feet to begin his tale.

I risk a peek at Gimli as he sits on the king’s other side and he offers me a frown, as he readies himself to hear his father tell the tale of the ‘elven prince and the return of the Great Red Axe, Barazantathul.’ I try and smile but fear it comes out more as a grimace, so hide my face by lifting my goblet to my lips. Not that I have swallowed any of the ale I have been offered. It is not to my taste and I need to keep a clear head if I am to stand any chance of explaining away my actions should the need arise and thereby avoiding another session over my guardian’s knee.

A hush falls over the gathering and it seems everyone is listening attentively, Lord Gloin is obviously a master story teller for he soon has the dwarves ‘oohing and aahing’, cheering and stamping their feet, many of the listeners throw looks in my direction as if wondering at my bravery, or perhaps my insanity as the story unfolds!

While I do not fully understand what he is now saying, the timbre of his voice, the movements of his hands and the way he pauses for effect every so often tells me that he is intent on making the story as ‘thrilling’ as he can.

‘We dwarves are very fond of such stories’ he told me last evening ‘they are our favorites and it behooves a good story teller to add as many twists and flourishes to the plot as to make it interesting to all’ He had laughed at my face when he said this and told me not to worry. I did plead most especially with him to explain that for an elf to cross a space on a single rope was not an unusual occurrence and nothing out of the ordinary way, but I do not think he believed me although he promised not to make me out to be any more than I was. But seeing Gimli’s face as Gloin mimes my crossing the rope bridge I fear Gloin has forgotten that pledge.

I make a furtive attempt to gauge Gimli’s reaction of what has been told so far. He is looking a little pale and unlike everyone else is sitting quietly, his hands grasping the edge of the table tightly. He turns his head and I see the horror and fear in his eyes as he re-lives the moments he thought I had fallen to my death and my stomach twists even further into tight knots.  
Oh how I have hurt him yet I did what I did with the best of intentions and would do such a thing again for him no matter the painful consequences to myself.

Lord Gloin eventually brings the story to a triumphant end and the whole hall erupts with shouting and clapping even while Gimli still looks a little grim as if still caught up in his memories. I fear for my backside for a moment and then his mother speaks to him and Gimli seems to rouse himself from his reverie and he joins in the general applause for a story well told and calls for another round of ale to toast his father with. Then he offers me a smile and I hope that perhaps I may find myself to be forgiven. I sink back into my seat much relieved. Perhaps now I can enjoy the next part of the evening.

The tables and chairs in the main hall are being pulled back to make a space for dancing, and a group of dwarves appear carrying drums, horns and tabors.

As they began to tune their instruments, Gimli motions for me to come and stand beside him. I wonder whether I have been premature in my thoughts that my backside is safe, but it seems he has indeed forgiven me for he even entertains me with a highly embellished account of what his father has said in his tale telling. I am put to the blush on several occasions but I count it small cost to see Gimli enjoying himself so well.  
As we talk, the first dance starts up and I watch as two circles form, females in the inner one and males in the outer. The beat of the drum is relentless and I find myself tapping a hand on the back of Gimli’s seat and watching the way the two circles moved in opposite directions and the rhythmic stamping of feet I would very much like to join in but know enough of dwarven society to know I must not do so unless I am invited to do so by a matron of one of the clans.  
I am soon rewarded for my forbearance when Lady Vonild comes to me and asks me to join her in the dance if I should wish to do so.

Gimli says “Go on lad show them how elegantly the elves can dance” he tells me and I am not sure whether that is an imp of mischief in his eyes as he pushes me toward the floor. Fortunately I am not called upon to dance on my own but am welcomed into a space between King Thorin and Lord Gloin and am soon stamping, clapping and swaying with the best of them.  
It is late before the dancing comes to an end and we retire to Lord Gloin’s home, and Lady Vonild knowing that on the morrow Gimli and I will take our leave of Erebor urges both to get some sleep.  
I find myself sorry to think of leaving but I look forward to going home again. It is only when Lord Gloin mentions that the king is intending to write to my father to tell him of the great service I have done the dwarves of Erebor that I begin to wonder exactly what sort of welcome I will actually get when I arrive at the stronghold.

XXXX

 

 

The tales have been going on for hours now, each one more exciting than the last. The best storytellers have come out on this very special occasion, and the crowd becomes more and more boisterous as each tale brings us closer to the moment all have been waiting for. Each storyteller brings the excitement level another notch higher until the sound of the celebration is almost riotous, but when my father gets to his feet the noise comes to a complete stop. You could hear a pin drop as everyone waits breathlessly for the much anticipated story to begin.

Legolas, who has been pretending to sip from the same goblet of ale all evening, gives me a cautious glance. No doubt he is concerned that I am not going to like hearing the story my father is about to tell. Had he not feared offending the king, I imagine he would have never told anyone the harrowing details of the rescue of Barazantathul, though the collapsed bridge and the dangling rope already told the story well enough to me. I keep reminding myself that anything I might hear tonight will just be added details to what I already know or suspect. There is no reason to be distressed further and I have promised my father that I will not call the lad to account again over new details that might be revealed. I wouldn’t consider it anyway since I’ve already told him all is well between us. I have forgiven him and will not renege on what I have said, but I am still annoyed enough to let him sweat over it a bit.

Lord Gloin is a brilliant storyteller, and soon I am caught up with the rest of the audience in the riveting account of the rescue of the Red Axe. But while the others cheer and shout in approval, I find myself reliving the horror of the moment when I saw the destroyed bridge and thought yonder elfling crushed beneath the wreckage. The dreadfulness of that moment clings to me even after the crowd erupts in applause and is not until Mam reminds me that the story has ended that I return to myself and join in the merriment. Legolas is still watching me in some concern so I ease his anxiety by offering a wink and a smile. He seems to practically wilt into his chair, so great is his relief.

It is only now that I remember that he will not have understood much of what was said this evening, which undoubtedly has added to his discomfort, though he has made a supreme effort to hide the fact. I am certain that I alone have noticed he was having a less than pleasant time. It will not do for him to leave Erebor without getting to hear the story as it was told to the crowd today, so I call him to me and begin translating it into Common. My father has set the bar high, but I do my best to mimic his storytelling skills as I retell this tale to my audience of one. Any remaining frustration that I have toward him now fades completely as he blushes at the more revealing details of the story. I find it comical that while he had no trepidations about crossing a bottomless chasm on a single rope and digging through the grisly remains of orcs and goblins to retrieve the axe, he finds it almost excruciating to hear it told. I end the tale with the same triumphant flair my father did, and almost I am tempted to add an epilogue to this story just to see the lad’s reaction. I do not but can’t help saying, “You’ll remember well enough what happened next.” He reddens further and nods in reply, and then our attention is drawn to the musicians who are beginning the opening song for the dancing.

Lady Vonild invites Legolas to joins the dancing, and I encourage him with a push toward the crowd. As with everything he endeavors to do, he learns the steps quickly and soon looks quite comfortable joining in the revelry.

 

The celebration finally winds down in the small hours of the morning, and we return to my father’s home exhausted, but satisfied with the evening’s fine entertainment. Tomorrow we leave Erebor and I must be sure to intercept the letter that is being sent to King Thranduil for fear that it might get ‘lost’ before reaching the one it was meant for. I will travel as far as the edge of the woods to return the princeling back to his waiting escort. He of course does not see the necessity of this precaution but is unlikely to bother arguing for he knows it will be pointless. Besides that neither of us are in a hurry to depart company. We have grown very close over the past year together and it will seem strange indeed when he is no longer by my side on a daily basis. It will not be for long, I hope. If he can obtain permission to do so, we will meet again in Minas Tirith some time next sping to help with restoring the White City to its former glory.

 

Our attempt to mend fences between our two realms has most decidedly been a great success, though it has very little to do with anything I have said or done. Legolas’ careless foolishness has made him, not only acceptable to the folk under the mountain, but a veritable hero whose name will be heard in tales for years to come. Had I known what was going to happen during our stay here, I would have left him behind no matter that we had made an earlier agreement. Begrudgingly I must admit, though, that his returning of the axe has made a giant leap in what would otherwise have been a slow and arduous process. In spite of everything, I am pleased with the results of our mission. Though I shall never be reconciled with how it was achieved, I am content with the peace that will no doubt reign between the wood and the mountain. We both knew that good relations were possible between elves and dwarves, before we entered the gates of the Lonely Mountain. As we leave tomorrow we will have the satisfaction of knowing that all dwelling under the mountain now believe it as well.

End

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story there are more like it at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TheLeaflingChronicles/  
> New members are welcome!


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